Thornstruck: Hell's Angel
By Paul Adrain Hodgkin
Beneath the clouds and slipstreams,
From a garden down below.
Tribal screams and drumbeats,
A nation gone to war.
The clamor resonating
Stirs the hearts and wakes the souls,
Of a thousand sleeping angels,
as runways rail and glow.
Engines spit, and cough, and shudder,
Fuel and smoke swirl, rev, and thunder.
Take to flight and rise to heights,
Where men can only wonder.
Angel of death, brother to war, kissed by fate, embraced by horror.
High above a garden in smoke and flack filled sky's,
Descend on wings of fire,
Break up thornstruck and die.
Angel of death, brother to war.
Where are those clouds once kissed you home now that the drumbeats have all gone.
No more to rise above the asphalt,
But rather embrace it's space and ever roam.
The gas, the grease, and oil.
A V-twin wheels and chrome.
You are the wind,
You are the thunder.
You mourn your wings and trace these endless roads,
Until one day the drums beat and the sky calls you come home.
