The flight of Mundane

The air whooshes past the ears, like the roar of a blacksmiths billow.

It is the first flight for this man of agonizing mundane living.

Not the first of many, nor the beginning of misplaced longing for adrenaline.

Stale air, dark so black your breath seems to have new vitality.

Heart beating like the ringing of a blacksmith's heavy hammer,

the first the last the only flight this man will ever take.

Space and time, engulfing his souls last few beatings.

Life no longer teeters atop the cliff, the scales have fully tilted this day.

Escaping the mundane trap of the ordinary, he traveled to the cliffs of Moher.

A stroll at the midnight stroke struck the life from his soul.

One quick slip from the un-mundane cliffs of Moher.....

brought the flight that brought the first the last the end of the man Mundane.