Thin Air Poem by Smoky Hoss
Thin Air
The air is thin
at 34,000 feet
where the old man left the plane behind.
He flew on ahead,
far, far ahead,
to the one destination
that all are helplessly bound to find.
Without a heartbeat
his face finished smiling,
as if once again a young boy;
perhaps death shall be - and is -
the last and greatest
enduring joy.
Every bird that has ever flown
by it's own weight
comes back down;
every vapor that rises,
by lack of weight,
is never again earth-bound.
Life is strange
at 34,000 feet,
where the air is so thin;
out where souls soar
beyond broken bodies
that have forgotten how to grin.
I have seen a lot of those in death with a smile on their face. It reminds me again how what I think I understand, I am incapable of understanding, and in what I think is beyond me, I sense a distinct knowing.
beautifully put. There is an air of surrealism laced with wonderful imagination....saved within my favourites...I watched the documentary on felix baumgartner who parachuted 128.100 feet tonight and sat in total awe, this stroked the same brow...tyvm karen
Good poem Smoky. I'm not keen on flying - I reckon if we were mean't to, we'd have been born with wings!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 11:13:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
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