Flight

Croatia was the holiday of a lifetime,

For the passengers and the crew, homeowners and

Firemen fought the flames that lingered on,

Fed by puddling

Jet fuel.

Paramedics shrouded fragmented flesh in yellow,

Formed a yellow sea.

Investigations descended,

Fighting their way through media microphones,

Roar of questions punctuated by the beat of helicopter blades

And broken hearts.

Picked over the plane’s carcass like ants,

Carefully dissecting scorched remnants, torn metal.

Desperately searching for answers.

For the voices of dead men.

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Prayer to Youth

Caught up in the violent storm; monsoon, typhoon.

Battered, bruised,

But that tailwind’s pushing you.

Onwards, Upwards,

So damn far to fall, the ground holds out an arm

Catch you, hold you, love you.

Caress patterns into your knees, mark you for life.

Soul-lifting sun extinguished in a downpour.

Fuck him. Fuck them.

Live.

.

Experience counts for everything.

Party hard and forget it all in the morning.

Do it all, Try it all.

And bask in this moment.

The next one kills you.