In Memory of the Pilot
02-03-2004


the lights are but specks
immeasureably far away
barely passing the confines of the window
after what feels like days.

the clock stopped ticking
now the time is filled with silence
he could count each fleeting breath
no counting on a rescue in good conscience.

supplies are running short
they had high expectations
contact was lost years ago
an endless voyage of exploration.

he was no longer alone
the shadows moved just out of sight
the darkness tore apart his hope
the lone pilot and his last flight.