The plane mounts its crescendo.
A metallic tube of life, so close to the heavens.
Will God not sense the glaring presence
of so many tense humans
In the same tube at once?
How is it then that he pretends
to not listen,
to the glistening hope in my heart
As I plead, plead to its every part
To take a detour
To heaven's front door
And never change course-
I ask no more.
God is merciless.
Oh, for the wisdom
of the plane to not descend
Into the drab, unnerving everydays of reality
And take ascent into a surreal abnormality
Never to return
to the land of frail formality,
And never to depart
From the sands of elated insanity!
I'm running out of wishes.
Running out of beggarly pleas.
But if this one went answered
I swear I won't have another coming up
Like fleas amidst a beast.
For God or Devil, however you please,
My soul would put my mind at ease
For the absolute release
From life, at least.
Give my soul what it deserves.
Don't let this plane return to the folds of the earth.
Don't let it crash. Don't let it fall free.
For I have suffered pain enough
to pine for its non-being.
The heavens beckon
my divine demons.
Don't let them go unheard.
For I've heard enough
From the jarring jeerings of life
To the bereaved beckonings of grievous graves,
To the insinuating instructions of plastic-polite cabin crew,
to pine for a silent exit.
Don't keep me waiting
for its only eighteen
minutes before,
I'll write from the cold confines of my home.
On you soar,
Airplane.
Up and above all mankind.
And maybe, maybe, you will stumble upon
God's nihilist paradise.
YOU ARE READING
Blots
Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
