Two Hundred and Twenty Stories
Two hundred and twenty stories never written but etched in time
were removed on a day which started fine.
The silver worms traveled down beneath the floors
carrying those whose day (lest they know) would be a chore,
through the escalators and out the doors passing the facades lined with stores.
Aristocrats and bourgeois run through the halls
for no one would ever believe that these stories could fall.
I myself went to the nineteenth floor of Cortlandt and Church
starting my day seeing on which call I would make first.
“My future is looking great”, flashed briefly through my mind,
little did I know that fate was not mine.
A large boom made the buildings shake and the windows had rippled
as I ran to the pane and suddenly was crippled.
I gazed up eighty some ought floors
to see an explosion rocking the world off its doors.
I exclaimed, “My God, their bombing us” at the top of my lungs
and ran down 19 floors...like I was 19 years young.
Standing in the corridor on Dey that day, my eyes witnessed things I’d rather not say.
The second explosion than flashed before my eyes,
and I ran near a bridge to try and survive.
I stood there and wondered and waited what to do next
until one of the stories decided where I should run to avoid the effects.
Half the stories came down like an angry freight train
releasing a smoke monster engulfing all with a white powdered grain.
Covering my mouth, coughing like crazy, crossing the bridge, all sites were hazy.
Standing on the other side of the east I looked to the west
to see the other half of the stories end my friends, to this I attest.
Hundreds and thousands and millions of lives
were all torn apart over this year plus nine.
So I sit here now telling you all first hand
a day in the life of a fairly young man
whose story had began and ended that day
may your hearts stay free and strong
and God Bless the USA.
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