Heathrow Terminal Ultima

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Heathrow Terminal Ultima

In this temple of angels,
We’re pilgrims in limbo,
Awaiting Saint Peter to check in our baggage –
To weigh out our burdens,
And peer at our passports,
And turn us away, or to bid us safe passage.
And then we are summoned
By guardian cherubim,
Prodding and stripping and shriving our souls.
Our pockets are emptied,
Our liquids are measured –
And we submit meekly, as humble as foals.
So on through the pearly gates,
Searching for metal,
And out into Heaven, we worthy and pure.
No longer unclean,
We are free of all duty,
Absolved of suspicion, we’re righteous once more.
We browse through the magazines,
Sip our espressos,
And wait for our boarding as one patient crowd.
And once we are seated,
We are the departed –
Our spirits are flying first-class to the clouds.

7 thoughts on “Heathrow Terminal Ultima

      1. I see.. I can’t say I’ve ever felt the same but I think that must be a comforting feeling before flying. Reassuring. Almost like “weighing your heart against a feather.”


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