When Eagles Cry

I wake up at the hissing
Of the candle burning
Next to me, tears like mine streaming
Down its sides and I,
Hiding my sigh not to blow away
Its flickering light on the ceiling.

Why did she never call, all night waiting
To hear her voice, her breathing,
The pauses between bites on her lower lip
And words that drift like butterflies into my
World, and the sound of gushing love between
Two souls, tortured by the fury from Earth
And cracks in the Heavens; Why !
When all I want to see in this world
Is her face,
Deaf except to her voice,
Mad except to her reason, I lie
"Like a sick eagle, looking at the sky."

Garden of Poetry