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Voices From The Fuselage
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Meteorites
the science, the left hand - the cynic of my soul
a safe grip, a smooth path - the ground on which, i roam.
the right hand, a splendour - am i a man of god?
segregated from the hopeless common thought.
we venture through nature, oblivion and awe.
drowning in the fear that we can't escape this shore.
if we can't live together then we will die alone.
separated from our only form of hope.
i wake unscathed and breathing. my whereabouts unknown.
you bore such misery. then you gave it all to me. what is your next bequest?
your vision's off, your misled delusions. (why am i not surprised)
and soon you'll see we're not the enemy.
lavish in these words you may not understand.
who could've predicted that this would be our bitter end.
miracle occurred - the chance is sickly thin,
between the bruises and contusions that rest on our skin.
we cleared the ocean deep, thrown downward from the sky,
but the sensation of a pull encourages the 'why?'.
the walls are ripped apart, the fumes have met the flames,
and the resistance of the flooding wind keeps them at bay.
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i hear caucophany a clamour of a fear,
a fear that wracks somebody's every nerve beyond a tear.
the turbulence is fierce, as it exacerbates,
and i begin to witness everything about my fate.
as all my senses fade, despite my own protest,
the tunnel vision in the corner of my eye defects.
my fingertips are numb. i cannot hear the blight,
and with this atrophy is blinding absence of light.
have i lost you in a world of danger? have you forgotten me?
am i a stranger in a strange land calling for a reason?
longing, forgiven - taking my last stand.
your vision's off, your misled delusions. (why am i not surprised)
and soon you'll see we're not the enemy.
break my fall, or risk it all.
i can see your ulterior motives,
breaking down the walls.
i can see the goodness feed you,
as the darkness envelops me.
i have no way of changing this trajectory
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