Unsung - a Sestina
My brother, Lincoln Beachey, made my life a wonder,
Mother's eyes were full of him and loved how he was bold
I was the shadow elder son of a family in poverty's control
and struggled to to sustain them until my blind father's death.
In a grey world, Linc was bright colour caught on the fly
I felt drab and responsible but he dreamed of the sky.
Together we built airships and sailed upon the sky.
people lifted up their eyes and pointed up in wonder.
Then Orville flew and out of the blue, we began to fly.
we both were taught but I flew first, and I was not so bold.
It was almost suicidal but Lincoln feared not death
but I was timid, not like him, not nearly in control.
I flew straight, flat, low and slow tight grip on control
but Lincoln from the take off; it was like he owned the sky.
He danced on the air and I worried, fearing for his death.
Others tried to dance his dance and they died. No wonder
My brother always dared more, did more, forever bold.
Then grief for the dead filled him and no more could he fly.
He was sure it was his fault that they had died, so he did not fly
But like me they had lacked his nerves and his iron control.
They were others, the sky was full of men who were bold
Linc tried very hard not to fly but he soon went back to the sky
Then people came in thousands to see his latest wonder.
Flying low and slow I bumbled, crashed and came near death.
They saw him loop the loop for the first time and avoid death
He flew the thunder of Niagara's mists; where none had dared to fly
Then raced a car neck and neck, It was a screaming wonder
his plane howled inches over the drivers head, the finest of control.
Once he climbed his plane, until fuel was gone, high into the sky.
None had been higher and silently he glided down. That bold.
Over San Francisco bay he flew and still he was bold
Watched by thousands he seemed to tease death
then, suddenly, my ice cold brother fell from the sky
and I saw him smash into the water. No more to fly.
A wing strut had collapsed and he had no more control
and I lost my brother and it ended an era of wonder.
I am old now and look at the sky and I think of the unsung men who used to Fly
Those like me who were not bold and those who were. We all meet death
but we all look at the Control of a Lincoln Beachy and love all the wonder.
Copyright © Paddi March | Year Posted 2014
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