Flight 2072–Newark to Richmond

The lights are calm, diffused through ancient glass
The field they mark complains beneath the din
The roaring rush of those who only pass
Without the belly of the beast within
The surge, the bounce, the rattle and the lift
And spread below the world of sorrow lies
A prayer to thank the gods who gave this gift
To tear like thunder through the tranquil skies
What comes to mind is neither trust nor hope
But only destination and reprieve
There is no way for casual minds to grope
With laws they only think they might believe
Then for a time reality is gone
And only leaves the air to ride upon

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