Humanimals

I am 37000 feet in the air travelling 581 miles per hour.
I can see a perfect gradient between the sunrise and the dark of space.
The only light outside is the left wing warning indicator.
Below me is an immeasurable amount of water, and nearly as much life.
Above me, more than 6 times the distance to sea level until the edge of the atmosphere, and not a quarter as much air in it all.
At each side, the sea of clouds make mountains against the horizons light, and it -60 Farenheit.
I sit comfortably.
I exert no effort.
My only complaints are a lack of movement and the absense of silence.
In this most unnatural position I partake in one of the hallmarks of human achievement.
This is commercial flight: the everyday miracle.

Croak

I am but a machine
I am but a machine
I am sinnew and tendon
Muscle and skeleton
I am moved and pumped
Blood and guts
Nerves sprawled out and
Fibrous tissue
I am but a machine
I simply function
I simply am
A mind is not needed
For the heart to beat
For each breath I take
For every eyelid blink
It is auxiliary
It is no more necessary
Than the clothes you see
Just an accessory
Added on unnaturally
I am but a machine
Yet I think of what I am
I do not what I do
I don't know what I do
No more than a driver knows
A car
A plane
A train
A machine
I only guide
With no sense of direction
And a broken compass
Down routes and roads
Too dark to make out
I just want to shout
Shout
Out
Shout

What?
What do I want?
What do I say?
No how and no way
I don't know how or what way
Should I pray? Should I stay?
Should I wait out this day?
The light is over the horizon
That's all I hear
The sun will come out
And the cloud with be silver lined
The river keeps on flowing
And soon I'll shine
But for now
It's dark
And I am but a machine
Ill equipped