Running out of excuses,

and highway,

and runway.

Gotta get this thing off the ground,

right now.

Solemn condemnations

lay heavy burdens

on my mind.

 

The sugar in my tank,

and the feathers

plucked from my wings,

make every second

that I keep running

more likely

that I’ll crash and burn.

 

More than just another rough upset.

 

Push harder on that throttle.

More speed,

to combat the lack of aerodynamics,

or flight training.

Either I’m going to touch the Sun,

or become

some kind of impressive fireball

myself.

 

Never could stand

to suffer in a structure,

just another

half million dollar casket

that won’t even get to house my body.

 

Perish on the curves,

and fly into the straightaways.

Trust me,

once you feel

your wheels come off the ground,

you’re never gonna want to come back down.

 

This is a righteous thing;

this drive,

and this pursuit.

If only I have enough

grease left in the wheels

to keep turning

at high speed,

because after we break

the grip of Mother Earth,

it’s all up to the wings

from there on out.

 

Then, we catch us a horizon.

Escape this place,

this Hell-bent, nether-world.

Breaking for the coastlines.

Somewhere warm,

and free,

and alive.

 

I just need to hold this red line

a little longer,

until my wheels

leave the ground.

 

 

HG – 2020