Flight, by Catherine Redfern

("Most of man's ills come from his inability to sit quietly in a room"  -  Blaise Pascal)

But, Blaise, your countrymen ignored you.
Look: look at the balloon.
That was the beginning:
man getting above himself

Balloon, bi-plane, channel hops,
aces high, slaughter figures rising.

And a second time: dog-fights, night raids,
the East End flattened, Dresden demolished;
but all quite neatly finished
in a distant land,
the quiet tea ceremony shattered
with some new equipment.

And still the restlessness.
How can a room 
contain this flight,
this longing for the stars,
this race to be the first?
The Moon was the glowing prize, 
now Mars is in his sights.

Blaise, you are quite alone
in that quiet room.
Man has been chasing other worlds,
but soon enough
- surely soon enough? -
he wil return.
This little Earth,
suffering and sickly,
needs his cherishing.