Carol Bowen-Davis Poet Rhyme

The Anthem

!Steel and concrete erecting up 
for nearly a whole mile,
When struck, just so, by men in flight,
reduces to a pile. 

The grandest hall in Europe stood
eight hundred years in France.
Now, dwarfed to not much more than frame
by mightier, the match.

As towers fall and churches burn,
and flags still wave and crowns return
to eager patriots and saints,
the news comes on, and mother faints,

and dad drops down upon his knees
and grandma crys and prays and pleads,
"Please Lawd, don't let that be our "boy"
dead on that TV, front that store!"

Ran to the door and flung it wide,
without my shoes, I  stepped outside
and began running, without fear,
my face disfigured from the tears,

"The TV screen cannot be true,"
I thought.  Although, in fact, I knew.
And when I'd reached that dreadful spot,
his body's there, but soul was      not.

And so, today, I sit and watch
well-wishes flow to that sweet spot
where a crown again will lay,
just as the flag again, does wave
over a land of free and brave
and peace for black boys, 
in their graves.

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