This poem was initially inspired by an eagle statue sitting atop my bookshelf. Enjoy.

Broken Wings

Once, the eagle soared in the clouds,
Until a hunter’s bullet wounded his wings.
He waits for healing so that he may fly
And once again embrace the sky.
Now, his flight is marked with pain.
Flapping his wings is agony.
He does it in desperation without joy,
Wounding himself more.
So, he hides in his nest away from the hunters
And waits for his broken wings to mend.

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