Could it be written, thoughts...
for silence cut in the shape of wings?
That fluttered, stuttered;
flaps/flops
muttered.

There was always an air of calm
within jets,
a gentle violence, general states
no lines, no connections;
dictation, broken breast,
affliction.

Each day a trial;
The Great Tribulation!
wings cut through silence...
shape remains;
earned defiance!

To battle, fly.