Awake on Flight 94.

By
Awake on Flight 94.

My eyes are wide and in awe, like it is my first look into the world.
I adjust to the light, or lack of it.
I look around to find that my kind is rare.
I am a nocturnal owl.
The darkness is too artificial to trick this mind.
I am alert as a ticking clock.
Streaming light peeks through the tiny crack in the shrunken window.
I am the only one who notices, for I am the only one who wants to recognize.
The light taps me on the back and whispers to me.
Her smooth voice slathers over me like butter.
I snap up the miniscule window to relieve the taunting.
I realize I was encaged.
I absorb the light like a soft, orange sponge.
I am at eye level with the sun.





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CALLIE133 said...
Oct. 24, 2008 at 3:05 am
WRITTEN LIKE AN ARTIST DRAWING A PAINTING AND WHAT HE SEES... I SEE IT ALSO. CAN SEE THE YELLOW OF THE SMATTERING OF BUTTER AND THE ORANGE SUN. CAN SENSE THE FEELINGS OF THE AUTHOR. VERY WELL DESCRIBED.
 
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