Captive

Inscribed into the ring, the eagle flies
Within the limitations of the gold –
Its outstretched wings on bullion skies
Contains the full circumference of the mould.
Sharp eyes attend the one who carries it
And on reverse its talons bite the flesh;
Contained but not contained enough to quit –
Its hunger for you seems forever fresh.
You take it off, and then lock it away
With all the little trinkets you don’t wear;
But eyes and talons follow you all day –
A terror that your wits cannot forswear.
It’s in your thoughts, you say, and nothing real,
And two months later makes your mind its meal.