Converge this point on my delta wing,
spinning thruster and hear me sing.
Twenty thousand feet and I’m a bird,
blinding with a sound full heard.
Circling overland, scanning all frequencies,
so high now and there is so much that I can see.
Twenty thousand feet and I’m touching the sun,
faster than a any bullet from any gun.
Radio chatters on broken wind,
whispering shadows trying to lend.
Now they scream did he crash?
did he crash, did he crash?
One way ticket to the sky.
Light speed, the only way to fly.
We’re the ones who will never die!
Even though our thoughts do try.
Thoughtless air wave chatter hammers still,
… but did he crash … did he crash?
(I’m just a bit hyper after seeing my CPN and being told that actually I’m doing OK. This old poem from my archive, with a bit of an edit that sums up my mood. Although I was actually very manic when I originally wrote it, I’ve decided to trim it up and use it as warning sign that though flying can be fun, there is such as thing as to high. And yeah rapid cycling sucks!)