As I galloped in
the belly of the beast
past fields of a nearly obscene green
so bright it clashed with the sky
like cheap clothing
a horrid thought popped in
like a ring on the door
from keen bible readers
and I had to be polite
The thought popped in that
if one was tipped out
of a metal tube with wings
at 32,000 feet
poetic thinking could help
Ones last moments before
becoming a scarlet smear
on that bright grass green
like the head flash on a Redpoll
would be to think
that those green fields
were a velvet blanket
and one would fall through it
into safe and loving arms
born again
