Flying high, bandits at Ten o Clock,
Bullets ripping into each fuselage
tearing, burning, stripping
nerves bare, magnifying
the tingling pain, which travels through the ether.
Leading us towards wildness – in this
Flying High, bandits at Ten o Clock,
We jockey for position,
Who will lead, who will follow,
as we weave,
Our wings become interlocked,
Lines blurred opposing teams conjoin,
Victor – versus – Vanquished.
Fanning the flames
Bleeding from myriad wounds
We fly, locked together,
Spinning, grasping, feeding on
the updrafts, and the others wounds,
My fuselage shot to pieces
I am dropping faster, torn skin
sliding, wings detaching,
Have you the strength to match me?
Will we tumble together
Hold the Connection –
Flying high, bandits at Ten o Clock
We are the makers of our fantasies.
Writer and Silk Painter from the far east of the United Kingdom. Loves to read History, historical novels, fantasy and some romance. Paints silk mostly wearable art. Loves games particularly Scrabble and word games, plays at every opportunity online and at home. Interested in relationships and what makes people who they are in general. First novel Converging Lives, first poetry book Caught in Passion. She showcases poetry and relationship issues on her blog Converging Lives Poetry and Prose. Runs a Facebook group for poets who want to learn and debate: Rising Moon Poetry.