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
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