I Am The Eagle,

the stark predator
back dropped by the dazzling sun.
I measure and reckon upon details;
the direction and velocity of winds.
My talons clutch in a last grip
and the beak, razor edged, rips and tears.

The aerie lies near the lake
in the shadow of the high mountain,
unlike the hawk roosting in the valley nearby,
deep within the screeching woodland.
Many take no heed of me
bewaring nothing soaring so faraway,
meandering in a distance too foreign
for them to see, or fear.

But, coming into that geography,
the boundary and parameter of my sharp sight,
I only need to pounce in a lightning catch and
swoop them up into some convenient perch.
Unlike them, trapped in a scheme
not of their making, no carrion do I seek.
No trap awaits me.

They are sited movement caught by my eye,
a tribute to be taken; ripped and torn,
pieced just so, for ripe and particular appetites.
The first course is mine and measured to my need.
The second, gleanings of the harvested carcass,
the smaller, savory pieces, I deliver to
frenzied, nestled eaglets hungry for my return.

I am forever soaring above,
seeking an unguarded opportunity,
when they chance a safety that does not exist.
This is my eminent rank. This is their lower link.
They feed me and mine according to that covenant,
governing all things, including me the eagle.

© 2009 by E.D. Ridgell