A plane with no pilot, a perilous flight;
The throng of the trusting go into the night;
Considering never their treacherous plight;
And none seem ever the wiser.
With no destination, but a fiery crash;
They tell themselves (and others) this flesh will not ash;
Their lies come to nothing in one blinding flash;
The spendthrift, as well as the miser.
They boarded their passage, the minds unalert;
So happy their feelings would never get hurt.
With no pushy pilot his will to insert;
A paradise of their own making.
The meal so delicious, the seats nice and firm;
Riding the airwaves on their own terms;
No schedule to make the anxious ones squirm;
Autonomous roles for the taking.
Masters of fate, but not masters at all;
Miniature gods, not quite six feet tall;
Yet yielding to gravity still they must fall;
But think not too much of the landing.
Pointless and hapless they set a new trend;
Life is a journey, who cares how it ends;
Eat, drink, and be merry, and tell all your friends;
A transient stage with no standing.
Downward they go to a fiery grave;
With no crafty airmen the cargo to save;
But oh how heroic the plummet they brave;
Their new shoes receiving a polish.
Such are the souls when God is not known;
Their lives lived at ease with themselves on the throne;
Friends for a moment and then all alone;
But truth they can never abolish.