From cushion to cushion of air,
at the mercy of a course plotted out
By experts or fools manipulated
By hundreds of gauges, feeling giddy
At 20,000 feet the ears pop
Far above the white
Cloud horizon where the sun peaks
Warmth reflecting on the windows
Vibrating from the engine's painful
Whine; the shadowy holes, portholes
To the city I have left behind.
But now it's the bumpy trail of Ether
Through which many have fought
Glorious horizon! Cloud islands,
Swirling gray rivers resting upon white
Here, daunted, dainty cotton swabs,
Smooth satin sheets slide to horizon
Like infinite sheep, and there
Dimpled moguls on white desert sands
Oh! To master perpetual motion,
Forget about all the history's been made
On the mainland, to joyfully play
On this endless white of angel's wings;
Even at night the winged ship flies,
Threads itself through horizon's eye
Let no untruth keep us from our task,
Or deviate us from our destiny
From all that is evil to all that is good.
Don V Standeford
Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com
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