plane poem

entry picture

TOUCH THE SKY WITH BURNING FIRE

 

Enemy birds of combat fly to their destiny,

they’re made by factories in Russia and elsewhere.

Their high escort provides their aerial

protection against enemy planes.

With such professional care the aerial hawk

checks his missiles; suddenly his wingman

is a burning shower of sparks – gone.

Nine miles above an aerial chariot launches

his missile, no one can touch this high altitude

warplane as his technology always wins.

The lower enemy planes fall to the ground

on so much falling flaming fire

their battle tragically lost.

◄ a poem for a girl i can never have unless a miracle happens

a poem... ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses only functional cookies that are essential to the operation of the site. We do not use cookies related to advertising or tracking. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message