Gloria Mindock

Flying on a plane,
I could touch Heaven…
clouds at my fingertips,
kissing the weightless passion.

When they shot you in the head,
cut off your arms, no praying
could be done.
All the things you wished,
there was no time for.

Death calls, surrender falls
into a void of nothing,
an abyss of air.

The plane crashes…
Sunlight stretches rays
into the earth’s eyes.
Sorrow visits…burns.