I write endlessly on
Till my fingers start to bend and ache,
But what I feel isn’t pain.
No, it’s that feeling of being on a passenger plane,
Awhile loneliness entreats upon the fragile air.
Can you hear the roar of the engine?
I can’t seem to focus away.
What should I do now that my life flies so solely?
There seems to be no answer to such questions.
~Alex A. Arlington