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November 27, 2023
"Mes de los Muertos"

The Ancient Guardian

By Carrie A. Golden

Ancient and cracked the grey bedrock
strains beneath the high peak
-- its burden and pain etched deeply
within the foundation

An eagle's wail echoes through the
dark, brown valley as the
rocks weep in black and red tears

The hunter crouches below
-- watching, waiting
as a predator for a prey

As the bird struggles on, its breaths
ragged and shallow the
moon's ray, a path it shines to a
notch engraved within the
rocky crest, a barren haven
is all the aged mountain can offer

The predator, as it
stands against the majestic heap
of solid granite and
moss, turns upwards only to see
a traumatized surface,
broken and wretched; it let out
a victorious roar
-- the crevices of this pile of dirt is no match

The creature clambers towards the ridge,
the young eagle, hide it
did not -- for it would meet the
reaper, eye to eye
honor it seeks, a coward it
refuses to be for
death would bring its greatest freedom

The reaper's eyes burnish with glee --
the bird spreads its wings proud
and courageous -- the cold facade
now blemished by blood and dirt

As the beast nears the edge of the
obscure refuge, a low
rumble grew within the stony
guardian, and black shrouds
envelope the celestials above

The face of that ancient mountain
cries in jagged tears as
they shred the predator from its
countenance and it fell
into the trenches of the earth, and then swallowed whole

The Eagle, a prey no more, perches
on top of the mount of old
and watches as the clouds reveal the lone, pale orb

Article © Carrie A. Golden. All rights reserved.
Published on 2012-06-18
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