At 747

The last flight

Snow is falling hard
In the quiet city
Cold, wet, and dark
The loss will be such a pity

The turbulence of the plane
Shakes all that reside
Mothers, Fathers and children
In him they abide

A sputter, a sound
A rudder, the ground

Pilot dreams of excellence
Hoping just for mediocre
Pull back quickly
Out over the shore

3,000 and dropping
2,000 no stopping

A path in which they all came
Everyone in his or her seats
Had a purpose to be there
Simultaneously 254 heartbeats

STOPPED