Wednesday, 19 June 2013

Blue Sky Thinking

No one saw you fall from grace,
halfway to heaven, head lost in clouds.
No one heard your cry for freedom
or the sound of dreams dashed upon
desolate concrete.

Your furtive run for freedom filmed
by hidden cameras no one manned.
Your head awash with hallowed dreams –
face furrowed in
wondrous joy.

And, five minutes into your final
flight, wings spread, soaring
to your promised land – hopes rupture,
fray – fragile figments of

Cocooned in fumes and thinning air,
stars spinning behind closing lids,
knuckles whiten, clutch
at hopes and thoughts that twist and turn as
tortured as the

space inside your mile-high crow’s nest.
And later, when the undercarriage moans
in protest at your excess baggage,
as doors shift and daylight once again intrudes,
you wonder – briefly –

at what remains of hope? And, as you fall,
unseen, unheard, unknown, you spy her
arms agape, eyes dulled, tears wetting flooded plains,
raining havoc upon failed crops and wasted
dreams that prompted you – her son –

to find hope within the wheel-arch of a plane.

©Carolyn Cornthwaite

Carolyn writes poetry, flash fiction, short stories and has almost completed the first draft of a novel. She dreams of Booker prizes and a life in France and blogs at