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Poem

When the monoliths burst into shock-horror flame,
People gaping through windows at chaos again,
The box in the corner shows all that was done
From multiple angles, repeat and re-run.
If someone could stop it, pray God that they would,
This cold anaesthetic is serving no good,
But the eyes are hypnotic and glued to the spread
Of destruction and slaughter sucked into the head.

Feeling sick to the stomach, being driven half mad,
By the fifty-sixth screening it’s not half as bad,
And questions resound as if going insane,
Repetitiously hammered deep into the brain.
As the impact grows lesser each time it is seen,
Panoramic and sweeping the letterbox screen,
No need to record it to watch it again,
For they run it and run it forever, Amen.

All feelings in ice cubes, they’re now getting numb,
Giving up speaking, struck voiceless and dumb,
The nerves have quit jumping and die compromised,
Deader than doornails, they’ve been cauterised.
Visual whirlwinds are spinning around,
Despicable carnage played out on the ground,
What once had a power to move and appal,
Exploited ‘till it has no meaning at all.

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