Eagle’s Flight — a poem

Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

I heard the rasp of head on ground
The dull crunch of gravelly sound
I grasped then the profundity of time
Of life’s slow spinning, towards its end
Would death, our constant friend
Catch me in its upward drift, or could I
This soul, continue down
Beneath that same gravelly ground?
My arms were twisted underneath
My body broken in defeat
While I hovered above my own head
And heard the others gather round
They called me, voices weaving in and out
The clay, the rain, alive at last and I
A neophyte, sipped tea on golden grass
A freshness never smelled before
My return, a relucant eagle’s flight
A hovering, birdseye out of sight
To a world of dizzying smells and sounds
I had never felt nor seen nor found

© simon heathcote

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