Sunday, July 14, 2013

Survival -- The Bombing

Lest I forget. Or should I? A man then, and now. How can I? Reach back to that lifetime. But now. It is in my bones. In my blood. It’s in my cloud atlas.

Survival -- The Bombing

The feeling -- response of emotion
sudden recall the last flight.
Two bombers above, but slower now.
I feel it. Excitement. The power -- that flight.
Four engines, doubled. Sensation.
See. Feel. Hear. How it affects me
almost to tears so full.
So deep the response in my body
beyond the reason of mind
responding in every organ
from eyes and ears
heart and gut
to testicles.
Full, the drumbeat
somehow void of rationale.
Reason. No. Why. But sure.
There for the love of shear power.
Raw power. To fully experience the realization
of potential. In danger. Of death. Repeated.
Continues to pull. To pound at the floor
of my trunk. My gut. And pumping
blood. Oh, Soul. I am.
How could I?
It seems.
It is.
So real.
Unending -- the repetition.
The revolving. The engines. The thunder. The bombs.
Released now. On course and inevitable.
Percussion. Percussion. Percussion
of certain and sudden change.
Soul survival. After the final

Summer is airshow season.  Whenever I hear a WWII bomber fly over, it is the drone of their engines that evoke the powerful emotion that begs release. I love it.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 7/14/13