Nine
Terror in its darkest form,
Filling skies with smoke.
Today, our vengeance has been born;
Our wrath, destruction woke.
Quiet rage is growing bold.
Devastation - great.
They say revenge is best served cold,
So difficult to wait.
Questions many, answers none;
Horror in our eyes.
Debris and smoke block out the sun.
The streets echo our cries.
Never in our wildest dreams,
Safety compromised.
We clutch our hearts amidst the screams,
The nightmare realized.
(Attack on the World Trade Center - September 11th, 2001)
Copyright © Cherie Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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