The Sacred Vulture of Tibet, or something

Davaisha Lias

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Lammergeier is in the grips of a majestic eagle.

It once haunted the mountains of Tibet. It reigned.

It lived on Sacrificed Human Flesh, a peace offering to the Hellish.

It dwelled in the words of Dakinis, this Fallen Angel.

It stormed through the myths, bitter and enraged.

How poetic. I’m so edgy and staged on display.

Is this my life now, waxing rhapsodic, chasing legends and fairytales?

Getting lost in minutiae and details.

Could someone come and rescue me from this life in pompous dreams and esoteria?

Pondering: Maybe I’ll just go back to being normal me with no allusions to throw.

And then I’ll bust loose of this pedantic show and tell ammo.

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