He sits in solitude-perched upon his throne.
No exterior boundaries or obstacles stand.
His injury has become his internal prison. Grounded by his
wounded wing he is kept enclosed.
Bound, chained and cast off-the king is a convict.
Our captivity is the connection.
We long to fly embrace and surrender to the blue.
To the freedom. There is a likeness in his stance and grandeur.
Predators –we thirst for the hunt. Humiliated or humbled? We are
alone, desperate to return to the alpine that echoes in his
mournful eyes. He sits.
A monument to the passers-by, the look of pity delivered by
every face. He envies them. Their liberty, free will and ability
to fight for all we thought we wanted.
He sits. A memorial reminding her that there is a king
conquering the sky, within. Ready to spread the working wings of
life and fly into the unknown. Soaring into the abyss of
existence, aware of the uncertain struggles the eagle can
By Alice Lynch 01/07/2008 Hobart, Tasmania.