Flight- a poem
Originally written Dec 2021
A golden haze rises, and
A crisp, blue sky mellows out
Of the darkness preceding dawn;
A prelude, a hint of wavering birdsong
Through labyrinthine twigs in
Ashen trees above, where leaves
Rot and die, devoid of summer’s light.
They fall upon the tarmac. A rough
Surface, carved into the countryside with
Bitumen, oil and rock, forms of the
Earth regurgitated for the demands of
Metal machines which cast out fumes;
New clouds of smoke through the
Cool, sharp air of the morning.
Sharp, yes… Sharp like ceaseless
Scraping of razor blades down our throats
And deep into our lungs, air which provides
Vitality, yet keeps us hooked on
Mortal pains, like burning bonfires
Smelted and smelled faintly on the horizon,
Burning veins within a suffering corpse.
In the midst of this, time continues to
Tick away; mist rises through valleys,
Vales and dales. We too set off upwards
Like the sun, the escaping air, our hopes and
Dreams. Floating upwards, in balance, butterflies
In the breeze where deeper intentions
Lie, toss, turn and fly.
Why do we dance like this? Why do we
Push on upwards until nothing remains
To be given? Ephemeral pain, gone in seconds,
Seems to last forever here, yet nothing truly does.
The wheels rotate onwards, yet always return
To point of origin; the season vanishes secretly
And slowly, seething in agony.
A gentle swish, a gasp for more;
A great exhale, a gradual hum.
We rupture the air in a world of
Strain, one where simultaneous pleasure
Is lain and life flashes through
The mind; for in the blink of an eye,
We find out what it is to fly.
-FS
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