i'm good at poems too, as well as drawing. i'm ok at storys too
The F-14 Tomcat
It waits,
For a target,
it will never fire at.
The plastic pilots,
Stare out the canopy of their F-14 Tomcat.
The sleek Tomcat sits on the pallid shelf,
Waiting to be picked up again.
Waiting to have the sweep wings moved back and forth.
It gets its wish,
And makes me a pilot.
Every screen, knob, and button
Becomes a part of you.
I imagine the acceleration,
The rumbling afterburner,
And the shove into your seat.
The wings sweep back.
Your airspeed rapidly rises.
Speed,
Is all you got in your mind.
A MiG emerges bearing 2-7-1.
That old saying resounds,
MiGs were born to die!
The kill is all you care about.
You lock onto the MiG,
And fire your Phoenix Missile.
You hear the WHOOSH and the trail of white smoke.
The pilot frantically tries to out-maneuver the Phoenix.
In an instant,
A gargantuan fireball appears.
In the back of your head,
You hear the scream of The MiG pilot.
Blood tastes good.
Now all you care about,
Is getting home.
