Poem: Flameout
A terrible poem written... I don't really know why, proof read while half awake and put up here because I don't know what else to do with it.
You have been warned.
It all goes quiet
That's when you know
It's happening again
The nose pitches forward,
So you haul back on the stick
For a moment a response
But it's gone all too quick
Your heart, like your head,
Knows what's below
Knows what is coming
Knows where you'll go.
'Mayday! Mayday!'
You can cry all you want
The replies pour back in:
'We'll help!!' they taunt.
But what can they do?
Follow you down?
Picking up speed
as you hurl towards the ground?
Even if they are there
And you know that they are
The smoke from instruments
Coats the windows with tar
You're alone either way
And they can do nothing
So why bother them at all
You're better of bluffing
'You ok?' they might ask
It's 'I'm fine!' (you're insane)
But telling them this
Will only bring pain
They can't bring your nose up
Can't extinguish that fire
They can't fix your engine
Your brain sinking in mire
Only watch in anguish
As you plummet down
Accelerating constantly
Curving toward the ground.
Stay silent.
No one can help you
You'll only cause them more pain.
Suffer quietly
You might escape this again
Stay dark.
You're alone anyway
In a crowd, in a wilderness
The less that are with you
The less you might crash with
Do you want your friend by your side
If it's a smoking hole in the ground?
If you hit he should live.
She'll get over the pain.
There's a buffet
And you're mashed
Down into your seat
As your brain levels out
Probably over some street.
You hurl on forward
People notice
you can't hide
Not from all of them
Calls come in
You know what they say
'Are you ok?'
'Let us help you!'
The radio's toast
Understanding them is hard
Call back even harder
But they won't go away if you're silent
Where's that damn thing anyway?
You can't see from the smoke
Can't find your checklist, your map
Can't find your instruments, your radio,
Anything, please!
It's so hard to think
'Go away.'
Maybe they'll leave you alone.
They don't.
'Just snap out of it.'
'Do cheerful things.'
'Do fun stuff with us, it'll make you feel better!'
As if you just flying through unpleasant weather.
They mock you
Though they mean well
It's all pointless, hopeless, useless
All is lost; you're in hell
You pull on the stick again
You can roll left or right nice
You bet you can dive
Up, though, no dice
The people are still around you
People who care
You wish they would leave
Why are they there?
They're making it worse
Though not of their tool
If you're alone be alone
In a crowd is cruel
Go away! You're hurting them!
The guilt piles on
Why can't they understand
That they're hurting you too?
So you're mean.
You snap left and right.
You run them away
Through the radio you bite.
You hurt them, you know
But it's momentary
The guilt is there but no more piles on
For now the pain stays the same
For now it's sedentary
Night has been falling
You're own personal dark
You're own personal hell
Will you strike something there
Leave one final mark?
This would be over with
There would be no more 'again'
It's in the black you notice.
In the soot and the smoke
There it is again
...And again
A faint flash of red
The smoke glows, then it's gone
To flash once again.
You wipe grime on the window,
You try to see out.
There are lights off your wings
To the left and your right
What?
There's a flash again
You can make out a tail, and wings.
Flash.
A cockpit.
There's a figure
Looking at you
The radio stays silent.
He only nods.
To the left there's the same.
The radio, in the black
You fumble, you find it
'What are you doing? Turn back!'
'No.'
Great. One of these people.
'Go away,' you say.
'Don't you know
What happens out here?'
In the next flash of red strobe
her face looks grim
'We do,' she says.
'We've been here before and
We're here again to go though it
with you.'
You stared out the window
What should you say?
Who the hell
Wants to be in hell?
Who would go through this again?
'Are you nuts?' you say
'Why?!'
'Because,'
the other pilot says
'You're worth it.'