A plane
Drifting through the wind, the rain
In its own dimension, it’s own plain
The sky of the Caribbean
Lust and meaning-
Scattered throughout its passages
Yet it carries itself
Sure in its own capacity
Divinity and celestial depth
Self sustained
Capable, gliding
Without real definite meaning.
Lights go down
Thunder strikes all around-
Wings fly, in spite,
Trajectory shaking its hefty massed might
And in the moment, the path it glides and follows
Sure in its travels-
Shakes and quivers
Stutters a bit
And is lost amongst all other possibilities.
Tonight is a weird night
Will it make its flight?
-These wings fly and glide onward
The stars will guide tonight
Skyward
And let the plane fall back in place
In the Caribbean
Where it may have lost its pace
Yet, nay
It will make its own mark
In its own distance
Amongst the sparks
And constant side shots
Reliance, it remarks-
On its own
Donning inspiration
To the wind
And fellow offspring-