THE SKY WEPT FEATHERS
The American Eagle soared,
proud and unshaken, upon the breath of winter,
swooping toward the shining city,
a hymn to the heavens, a whisper of flight,
born of wind and wisdom,
fashioned by the patient hands of time.
Unseen, beneath the gaze of fate,
a Black Hawk lingered in solemn flight,
shadowed in silence, watching the earth,
its wings carved from purpose,
its path etched by duty.
Then the air trembled.
The sky gasped.
A shudder, a collision, a cry swallowed whole.
Feathers scattered like fallen prayers,
floating over the frigid, sleepy river.
The two great birds, once masters of the wind,
plunged into the abyss,
carrying within them the song of life
cut short, mid-verse, mid-flight, mid-dream.
They carried not just their two lives but sixty seven
All sank into the waiting arms of the river.
The hands that reached for them
found only echoes,
the river’s solemn silence
a requiem of all that was lost.
May you walk now through tender meadows
where the sun spills golden light upon your weary wings.
May the doors of heaven open at the sound of your footsteps,
and may bright angels bear you upon their arms,
whispering songs of the eternal sky.
May laughter, once yours,
gather like soft ripples upon the shore of eternity,
and may we, in our sorrow,
find solace in knowing
we have given you back to the Lord
who once gave you to us.
And when our ship, too,
sails beyond the last horizon,
may we meet once more,
where the sky is unbroken,
where wings are never lost,
and where the wind sings forever.
