Explosion following the plane impact into the South Tower %28WTC 2%29 - B6019~11.
(Image by Wikipedia (commons.wikimedia.org), Author: rds323) Details Source DMCA
This is a poem I wrote close to 9/11, in shock and needing, as always, to verbalize.
We may think instrumentation,
marveling at those skeletal arms of tattered metal
arthritically trembling toward the harshness of blue late summer sky
like a witch melted to a pool of bones
Our new Titanic has been blasted by blasphemy
but our statue remains: the true spirit behind the pseudo-Babel;
and all those souls bowed to their real icon, life
and dared us to continue climbing up the charred metal
knowing how many lives there are to give for freedom
I look through to them through the living
in thanks
though the foe is still unknown
the martyrs are clear
What is progress but new forms of flagellation?
The veil of our last moments now lifted,
new horror genres loom
soon we will speak to death on cell phones:
What's it like in hell?
Invert the ingenuity that killed our dream of Babel
How can we wage peace with technology?
How can we reach God with our cell phones
instead of Satan?
Why decimate angels
when your target is hell?
