A Dead Eagles Love

A DEAD EAGLES LOVE - Written by Carroll Bryant

Whose is this face that haunts me in my mares? 

My dreams?

My oppression? 

Tis that of a dead eagles love that reminds me of my own?

Or a serpents tongue that tickles my remembrance?

To which I cannot say except that of what I believe

And I believe that love cradles the broken heart in its own loneliness 

And puts to rest the fear of its own malice and hatred 

And hatred is its own reflection that cannot be seen by other than its soul

That soul lives in the dark of a different shadow on the face that haunts my religion 

My self unknown is my religion in my nonreligious faith

For what is the meaning of a faith if not a purpose does it serve?

So, the travels of my blood through a highway of veins is destined to become disappointed 

As soon as it discovers its purpose is far greater than its journey

And puts another wrinkle on the face that haunts my mares

The tear becomes my conscience 

My conscience becomes my reality

Reality becomes my face