In the realm of time’s unyielding grasp,
I stood, petrified, as secrets of the past
Unraveled before my bewildered eyes,
A pilot named Skeleton, in mad guise.
Optimism, a trait so rare and bright,
In Skeleton, it burned with eerie light,
A thousand years had passed in flight,
Yet his laughter echoed in the night.
Four centuries of solitude and dread,
Upon the wings of a fateful thread,
Skeleton cackled, with madness fed,
A pilot lost in time’s web spread.
The air grew thick with ancient lore,
As Skeleton’s laughter pierced the core,
Of my being, shaken to the very floor,
By a secret lost, now seen once more.
In the cockpit’s eerie, ghostly glow,
I witnessed history’s hidden flow,
Skeleton, the pilot of tales untold,
In madness and optimism bold.
As time stood still in that haunted plane,
I felt a shiver, a creeping bane,
For Skeleton’s laughter, a haunting strain,
Echoed through the centuries, a refrain.
In that moment of dread and awe,
I glimpsed a truth that shook me raw,
Skeleton, pilot of time’s grand maw,
A thousand-year-old secret, now I saw.
