Flight

The sky is an ocean of its own.
Thin fluid white clouds, rippling beneath plane engines.
Ripples are formed by the winds below.

It’s silent out there, except for the constant hum of human mechanics.
Technology, the beast of a creation that punctured nature’s skull.
Metal birds invade the air, when all that should be out there is space.

Even above these clouds, there is yet another sky.
This sky is decorated with blue, yellow, and a slice of deep orange.
An orange as deep as the sauce for my dinner.

Darker clouds come into view as the sun sinks beneath the horizon.
The balls of cotton appear so soft, and yet they are powerful against these human inventions.

The nasal voice of a lady just warned us of turbulence.
Oh brilliant, I was about to eat.
Better hang on tight then.
Time to shut my eyes.

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