Gilded Eagle
By Dave
perched — gleaming —
bright as fire,
each feather plated thick,
golden sheen masking rust beneath.
shining — blinding —
they called it victory,
a monument to might,
but gold is not strength —
it only hides the rot.
flaking — failing —
each feather curls at the tip,
thin gold peeling like dead skin,
the gleam giving way
to brittle bone and rusted wing.
crumbling — forgotten —
dust pools on the desk,
gold-flecked and dull,
a quiet ruin no one mourns.
the eagle lingers,
a hollow relic —
glory turned to grime,
a crown corroded from within.