Con-Coction Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Many caught up,
In the flights of designer kites.
Custom made.
With no detail scrutinized.
And examined to ensure,
In skies high all eyes would be fixed...
Upon it as it lifts.
Often these kite flyers forget,
The string they hold...
Is not made of steel.
Or string so strong...
It keeps a flight of one's kite,
Affixed to heights with a permanence.

Seldom kite flyers remain humble to admit,
The strings held tight to their kites...
Someone else had something to do with this.
And should never be disrespected.
However,
So many ungrateful believe...
Their kites rise to heights obtained,
Forever stay to remain that way.
Until...
The strings are severed.
Winds blow them out of their control.
And suddenly without warning,
Plummeting to the ground they go.

"Wow!
Your kite came down like a lead balloon.
As if God punched it.
To knock out its lofty flight.
Did you have a name for it?
Something special you picked? "

-Well...
My string maker suggested,
Devised Con-Coction.
After I insisted,
Beyond The Stars This Kite Will Sit.-

"Hmmm.
One of you was correct.
Modesty Kept.
Would have been a better choice.
But...
I've already picked that one,
For my own kite flight."