Steel giants breathed on tarmac tight,
In twilight haze and thinning light.
A voice unclear, a phrase misheard—
And death took flight on a broken word.
The fog was thick, but thicker still,
The weight of haste, the human will.
One soared too soon, one could not flee—
Their fates entwined in tragedy.
The sky did not roar, it wept instead,
As flames consumed the silent dead.
No war, no storm, no metal flaw—
Just echoes lost in radio law.
Now pilots pause and speak with care,
In every clouded breath, they swear:
To guard the skies with humble grace—
For six hundred ghosts in that sacred space.
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Author:
Brian Otucho (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 19th, 2025 00:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar, Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
Poignant given past events. Haunting and sad the remembrance, a pome a tribute a memory nicely rhymend and with good flow. Nicely done
BRAVO
A nice crafted rememberance to a past tradegy, very well written
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