Nine-Eleven Recovered
He, on loan from faith, stared skyward
Eyes hoisted flagless where the boom broke
And saw through that window forward
Coming, what no imagination could evoke.
Some men like fledglings have learnt to fly,
And yet to land give craft to chance
These Allah gives hedonistic reward to die
Was how they still explain the significance
Of that jihad frightened fissable fuming
Out of scowling morning, sudden
Like the judgment some long awaiting
Before the promised gift of heaven
And after that like an Edenic shock wave
Day unfolded dark gray dust and smoke
Fear saw nothing beyond the sudden grave
Love and quarrels interrupted like a joke
A second chance never to be tolled again
Where hearts like arthritic fingers petrified
With pain, exit without farewell, and the rain
Of sorrow's tears dilute the deluge that cried.
And so seeing his last unbelief, he heard
The curdled scream surrounding him
The shaking world, the boom undeterred
By prayer, crucifex, or child forgotten hymn.
And when like archeologist sifting dust to find
Doubt lost in a crevice of mind, they came
Scraping with emotions, brimming and blind
With grains of dust out of a tumult of flame
I stood too, alone in my sudden vulnerability
Seeing what's left of arrogance and city
Then upswooped by feathered sense of empathy
Beheld, and could not grasp the new reality.
The world more secure is less forever sure
Freedom is frittered by a pale fanged fear
And I for all our frenzy found no crafted cure
And in my heart a boom still lingers there.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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