A Personal Letter From the Nine-Eleven Shrine

So you who ran that day Have returned at last To be the heroes of my death And what would you say to my face If after your pious words like apples are poured Into the smoke and dust where I rot There was a ressurection And no more room for regret How would your life unwind All the opportunities and liberties You took of my unexpected demise? You see now why I could not weep For me, or them who killed me And sacrificed stupidly the only pawn they had This ground is wet with tears for you Still corroding in my misery