Holding Pattern

A petition of love.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

The last words you spoke
over a tattered intercom,
I love you,
your shorted speech
cascaded into space.

Where were you?
A Tennessee girl
brought up on tales,
buying freedom
with innocent eyes,
hair.

My observations
took you to the skies.
Cheap lessons in doubt,
itchy feet,
death wish,
life wish.

The ideas are sunk in a tome
that brings light.
A few glimpsed words
out of context,
in your mind.

I feel that I can see you,
wings trembling,
soaring out of control,
biting the winds
and chasing cruel storms
guns blazing.

And this I remember
as we lost contact.
You were circling,
zeroing in,
arming the missiles I sold
at the right targets.

While my wish for you
would be one and the same.

He walked all night from wayward Dartford and, seeing the lights of the tower of Margate, headed south and pitched his tent for two.

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