blind blue angels tenuous their purchase amid the darkness
they bleed to earth and make the seas go crimson with grief that cannot be told in histories nor centuries
they leave the ghosts of our ghosts in silent reveries as
a trail of souls wander bleak and lost unable to tell if one of them has passed like a tattered ensign weaves no message in its wake and swings aloft a jaunty vessel arcing toward an uncertain past
the cool blade of destiny carves out their path indifferent as the stars
Flynnpoetry 