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
