Wings of the Eagles
The sun beats down on lush carpets of green;
I stand in Paradise on Earth that teems
With color and sound and life, yet blind I
Am and mute and breathless. From my wide eye
The wind snatches moisture. Blood on my hands,
Viewed but washed* away with Time's harsh sands,
The heat blisters me from within. An arm
Rests on my shoulder, wishing me no harm,
And we stand in nostalgia. Suddenly,
We rise together on gold wings and flee.
Our spirits lift -- with us, we feel him there
Healed are our hearts in the desert air.
Regret no longer makes it home here. My
Heart is free -- my tears forever dry.
*The "e" in this word is supposed to be accented, but my computer would not allow me to put the accent on it.
whats the conceit of the poem??.
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