Neon (9/11)

When dulled down shock painfully became a pickaxe ache behind shimmering eyes, the bludgeoning screen hammered memory cells repeatedly, over and over. Tears exploded, soft rain dampened flame, the grumbling dust cloud debris disguised broken hearts bursting in agonised swells searching for life confirmation. Crashed vultures, evil in senseless flight, beating humanity for hours like a drum, cramping the breath with holocaust claws, gleefully gloating, gloating. Yet humanity does not die in the night, by the warped wicked ways of fanatical scum, humanity fades not, nor crawls on all fours the prey of abomination. Could Hitler pulverise humanity dead, could Stalin annihilate it's very soul, could Hussein defile it's essence to dust, could they, hell. It arises from rubble and ashes instead, steel resurrection, reassembled whole, in the love and pride of people it must elicit restoration. Beneath the veil of despair-crippled night a broken city seethed neon 'till morning, mortal wounds blazed and shone in rebirth, defiantly living, living. And hope prevailed in each bulb burning bright, in each filament, tube, each spark a new dawning of all that Heaven allows on Earth, a prayer-shot inspiration. The carnage of angels bedazzled with pain, yet the courage and conscience of saints empowered a neon-lit love of brother for brother, a blinding, blinding sight. From sorrow and sacrilege raining again humanity's wonder, upon them was showered the love of the brave and the just for each other that they become the light.