The Black Eagle Dream flew high above the devastation that was America. The charred trees and the scorched earth, blackened the landscape as far as the eagles eyes could see. The people, like little ants, while enjoying the comfort of numbers and real estate, had long forgotten to wit; how it was that they had arrived at such prosperity. It had an ample source of both water and food. The other smaller nations, having been displaced; tried everything they could to survive and get along with their arrogatious neighbors. It was as if the large colony of ants had neglected to remember, that they too were nothing more than ants themselves. Inexplicably, within the hardened casing that lodged their dwarfish like intellect; they had evolved, and become great ones in the imagination of their existence. And at the apogee of their arrogance, they had stepped out on the sidewalk of relevance, and discovered that they, like their indivisible indigenous neighbors, could not only suffer loss, and pain, but be devastated within the borders of their own country. Not in some war torn country, so called third world, ass backwards, not as good as us, country. What is worse? To have nothing, and lose little, or to have it all; just for it to be undone in some, unforeseen occurrence? An ant is an ant, much like a caretaker who takes care of the earth. Take care, to take care,
of what takes care of you. The fire of greed burns out of control. The world is on fire, and getting hotter by the day. Change your ways before you lose all claims to humanity. For whose to say where we will be tomorrow? Put your trust in realities, that cannot be devoured by fire. The Black Eagle Dream continued on it’s way, flying higher, and higher above the little ants of mankind, who for the most part had lost their reflecting glass, and forgotten their true identity.