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Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #1673556
Blue skies and flying airplanes can be an ominous vision to some, after September 11.
About this Sky(innocence lost)

What about this precious day,
did take me
to the skies;
up to the clouds?
Was an airplane.

And about this airplane
I never noticed,
the sun ripped through
a blue sky;
polished it'd steel to orange.

What about it's orange glimmer,
took me back
to September?
Was a feeling, no less,
of fire on steel lingered.

What about our skies
scares me the most,
is how often a day a plane is in sight,
and I'll never again, see orange sunlight.

On the wings of a plane.








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