9/11

Sometimes I wonder way up here

If the sky is closer than I think

It seems I could touch it–it grows so near

And the lights and the stars look the same

Fragile and strong, steel and sheer

when the winds and the storms rage by.

The tower of our Babel

The image of our pride

Illusion of safety

Toppled

Fallen

Crushed

Dead.

.

Dead.

Crushed.

Buried.

Hidden

Illusions in dust

Image of loved ones

In tower’s ruins.

The wind and storm of fury

From the fragile, strong people

In the light of the heroes fallen

Cannot be touched–for fear

That the sky is close as a whistle

When you live on the earth beneath.

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