Oh how I wish
I could set free
the native American Indian
with pride and dignity
taking them back
across the great open plains
to their sacred home
in the lush green vallies
where buffalo are plentiful
so the Indians can live in peace
one with nature once more
where the eagles soar
setting them free as the wind
wild untameable as a magnificent stallion
running toward the setting sun.
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013
Outrider early morn,
When training hours are borne,
They are the needed arm,
Sun, cold, wind, rain or storm,
Outrider in the sun,
Whose work is never done,
Where horses on the run,
Keep bettors having fun,
Outrider in the cold,
Ones with hearts so bold,
Their stories often told,
Of skillful ways they rode,
Outrider in the rain,
Sha'n't wait the weather wane,
Is there to help again,
When loose ones run insane,
Outrider in the wind,
An utmost needed friend,
May everywhere they wend,
Such godspeed be with them,
Outrider in the night,
No fear, no fame, less light,
Night racing at its height,
Make safe the riders plight,
Outrider by and by,
Whether wet or weather dry,
They heed the riders cry,
They're the best, we can't deny,
Many "Thanks" we horsemen reply.
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008
Oh lovely Netherlands, you are now my second home.
You leave me thrilled and enchanted where ever I roam.
I smiled when floating down streets made from the sea,
Touring on charming glass covered canal boats with glee.
There’s beauty in the coolness of a windswept day,
As I rode the wind on my bicycle and joyously flew away.
Then I set out to visit famous paintings I was shown.
Each lovely museum has a quaint charm all its own.
One famous museum displayed art of Vincent van Gogh.
It has a cool theatre inside, most tourists don’t know.
I just had to visit Den Haag’s St. Mauritius to view
Vermeer’s “Girl with a pearl earring” and other art too.
I toured through Madame Tussaud’s Wax museum happily.
Johnny Depp and George Clooney were there waiting for me!
Oh lovely gardens of Keukenhof, my time’s worth BEST spent.
I’ll never forget your bright tulip hues with their heavenly scent.
Hartelijk bedankt oh lovely Netherlands, land of the free.
Alstublieft, alstublieft I beseech you, don’t forget me.
April 22, 2014
*Hartelijk bedankt - heartfelt thanks
*Alstublieft – please
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
LAKE OF THE WOODS
As I sit here gazing at my view of this magnificent lake I feel inspired, and simply genuine as a human being.
It is a cool April day, very sunny with a more than gentle breeze coming through my window.
The brown grass in a few weeks will be anxious to turn a velvet green after a little
more heat, and many more raindrops.
The birch tree beside my window is patiently waiting to produce its foliage
It is a peaceful time, and a gentle time on this late Saturday afternoon.
The seagulls play in the air and welcome me to their view.
May nothing upon this earth interrupt God's beauty of this place, and may the serenity of Lake of the Woods forever rest in peace.
Copyright © lynn Hanna Barany | Year Posted 2012
What's go great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is that of its jazz music and its voodoo culture. The city has been known as "The Big Easy" since the 1800s. It seems that all of the tourists from across the United States have considered New Orleans their favorite vacation spot. There's always a Mardi Gras every day, we've got people throwing beads at each other, jazz musicians playing their instruments (the saxophones, trumpets, etc.), and people dress in costumes every single day. But what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is that when spring breakers come to the city for spring break, even when they're still going to college. Everybody knows that the Big Easy is also known for its Cajun cooking, especially when the chefs are known for making a lot of jambalaya, gumbo, and a lot of Cajun foods. And what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is when MTV was there, especially when the MTV network executives had been recording episodes of "The Real World:" one back in 2000, the other was back in 2010. New Orleans, Louisiana, is the strongest city in America, even though it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina back in August 2005. But the famous street best known by New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is the French Quarter and and one of New Orleans' favorite landmarks is the St. Louis Cathedral. And the New Orleans Arena and the Louisiana Superdome are home to the New Orleans Hornets (NBA-National Basketball Association) and the New Orleans Saints (NFL-National football League). Even the late Louis Armstrong was from the city. Well, I hope to go to New Orleans, Louisiana, one day. And if the City of New Orleans were to stay on the map for a long time, it's going to be like a Mardi Gras on a Saturday night and Fat Tuesday in the afternoon.
Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011
Tall and pure oasis
So much has changed
You remain constant and lovely
Gentle, morning green grass
Breaks like waves, laps at the shores
Of white, gray, and yellow stones
Towering above me, silent and sure
Chiseled marble, granite spires, oak
Wrought iron, your scent is old
A familiar volume I keep close to me
The reflections in your pools
Still glass, not a leaf disturbs
Irises cling to your walls
The distance beyond you sways
Spreading lazily into shade trees
Sun-tinted pastures and weathered fences
I walk with reverence, still, after so long
Your ground is my sanctuary
It houses my past
I am a child forever in front of you
Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2012
Atlantis, the last of the spacecrafts, left this exterior of world
For the scientific expeditions and to discover something new.
Such heroic spacecrafts search new planets, aliens and herald
New discoveries to us that delude our conscience like the dew.
Send no more spacecrafts to search Aliens (even if these exist)
But send some Land-crafts to the Planet of the Poor, this Earth.
The Poor wait, starved and neglected, with an empty open fist
Where to born as destitute is a Curse and cursed is every birth.
A single gram of meal for an Astronaut costs more, yes, more
Than the whole year cost of a poor man who lives to struggle.
Send a Land-craft, at least, to this unexplored planet of poor,
You will discover luminescence of God in their simple smile.
Copyright © Osman Gani | Year Posted 2011
I walk down Mastic Road
And look into the open yards
Where grass grows
Taller than houses.
Flowers hang down
From branches of decrepit trees,
Singing off key praises
To the grimy streets
Where children pass
With heroin junkies.
Time can be devastating,
And ugly things have a way
Of getting uglier.
Down at the end
Of Cranberry Drive,
The low tide stinks
Of high manure
And the beady eyes
Of violent crack heads
Scare away the sane.
The annual town fair
Has given up on St. Jude's church.
There are no Indians
At the Indian Reservation.
Teenagers walk through old trails
With 40oz. beers.
They stumble and laugh
As if William Floyd's estate
Were nothing but weary shadows
Waiting to be violated.
What has happened to this town?
How long will it stand
And guilty association?
Where there are weaknesses,
There are vulnerabilities,
Open to suggestion,
Open to attack,
And we are failing.
Copyright © Mike Frampton | Year Posted 2010
What a darkness it is,
that as the planets rotate miracles
with cosmic power bestowed,
The Fall of Lightbringer
deadens the bleeding branches in Spring
as a requiem masked by your skin
paints onto the sun in a cloudless sky
What a darkness it is
when laughter lark detonates atom bombs in your heart
and you join me in my scarlet fever,
gazing thoughtlessly at a rainbow stream
of cars holding minds that also fear tomorrow
and are synced with Soundtracks for the Blind
underneath the sun in a cloudless sky
What a darkness it is,
melting chocolate promises on concrete;
the promises of Locke Cole I cannot keep
streaming from a destitute human Roc
crippled beyond silencing waves in starless space,
smashing the guitar, he cannot fake it anymore
from a bleached sun in a cloudless sky
on Cape May.
What a darkness it is
to manually delete from your cyberspace
the immortal morning dew of a once eternal friendship,
for we all know that those imprinted souls linger
in our own, impossibly carved into reaches metaphysical,
especially when your favorites coalesce, reminders constantly
following like the sun in a cloudless sky
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
...a darling dear of time is when the tick-tock, of the clock stops, during a dancing wind chimes rendition of just how invisible things move me, to write, darling dear a rhyme,
the peak of a mountain top experiencing,
O' darling dear
a love letter,
just one of those things that
of the everlasting.
Copyright © Marrio Biggs | Year Posted 2012
You scrape a living in a harsh barren land,
never ceasing the hope,
that rain will finally come.
Covered with spines, you brace, and wait out every storm,
yet bearing fruit, just those few days of the year.
You bring color to the desert, ever reaching to the heavens.
Brushing off dismemberment,
a new shoot where a severed limb once sprouted.
Seemingly the giant of the wasteland,
but often, merely a small potted plant.
Knowing full well that the next day may very well be your last.
The scorch of the noonday sun blazes down,
drying, burning, razing to the ground,
what has clung desperately to life.
But still, the Cacti, endure...
Copyright © October Third | Year Posted 2014
We all know what living is
We all had our lives given to us.
On a silver platter, a road for life mapped out for us,
but we aren't always serious
about the people near and dear to us,
because we're usually delirious about the life we take for granted.
When we have roofs over our heads
and sheets on our bed
then how come on the streets people
are frozen with defeat and have to compete for some food.
How can we watch people's lives fall when they stand against a wall with a sign?
No use at all, praying to god as their pride crumbles.
We watch them stumble with their heads down low and nowhere to go and I think,
Where is the kindness planted?
Why do we take our lives for granted?
How could we stoop so low while we live in houses they have nowhere to go
- couldn't we lend them something...
Oh no, one person could make a difference if they spoke out loud
show their faces to the crowd.
A difference could be made
all of us could be of aid.
So dear reader I hope you see
the message that coming from me
and as I've gone on and almost ranted
Why do we take our lives for granted?!
Copyright © Ella Marley | Year Posted 2008
When the world will set off yet again
To live life on the same planet
In the equivalent field of magnet
Running the same race all over again
To part where I'd say"give me your bag".
Bonding of brotherhood
The nous of livelihood
Like birds in the sky _ like confidence in our bag
let the weather weather us _ apparently
Standing tall for both
Watching out for both
Where the moon is silent _ apparently
Copyright © Emenaha Godwin Holiday | Year Posted 2015
myrrh marred marinas and goose-stepped geese
set sapphire to salacious rhythm under the absent sun…
a fantastical flamenco curtailed caustic cues,
nine-balled eighths shot straight to the soul,
pool for the favelas, thought for the fools…
Copyright © William Ward | Year Posted 2006
Standing atop this massive mountain I feel at peace
I see every detail of the city
The city where my heart lies
The city where my heart beats
The rivers flow and come together in a sweet phenomenon
The air is crisp here, as always
No one else can grasp
The awe standing here
Here over the city
Seeing it all
In bustling beauty.
Copyright © Melissa Ross | Year Posted 2008
A shiver of Appalachia
superfine sugar of maple
windblown through the spine
tingling in a burst of aortic air
Inhaled as though fresh but by
the mountains rendered spent
the slightest reminder of
organic perpetuation fiercely painful
and entirely disembodied, each moment
blanketed by eternity and the hereafter;
primordial yet ethereal, a shadowy glimmer
of final destiny.
(While) in the treetops, the heron and the wren
speak peacefully as they observe
the rising of the sun.
For Lydia Davis and Susan McKeown
Copyright © Aron Jacob | Year Posted 2011
our children dacing
dacing at the sight of lighted bulbs
like when the eclipse occured
but their hope dashed
but his wealth is intact
for his greatest grand children
children that are more equal
more equal than the others
our mouths now salivates
on seeing mere nuts
like dogs for bones
bones of our lost sons
sons last seen on april
april of the pools
pools of ballots
ballots of inec
our stomach now speak
speak like the dogs
dogs that came beyond the sea
but they have learnt
learnt to look
look since their demands were not meet
our youths now play in moonlight
play games in the sand
games out of fustration
fustration due to lack of job
our graduates now employed
employed in barrow pushing company plc
with first class honours
obtained from war front
our universities now battle fields
our wards soliders
only to come home
with paper to prove it
all their hopes in it
in the designed paper
paper that cannot feed
even the fetus in the woman
they made him believe them
them that are beyond the sea
that his wealths are safe
though they beautify their land with it
he knew not that the value of
his wealth has been used
used to tare their roads
used to build schools
used to build hospitals
used to make things better
used to empower their people
used to make them what they claim
those beyond the sea
though his wealth are safe
it have generated hundred times
to say the least, its worth
he claims to be rich,
the cock that crew
the dogs that bark
the cricket that creaks
the youths that riots
the children that cries
all are saying in Unison
wake up and behave
like a black though are
for our blood flows in you
let them know that we have an origin
our origin so strong
our strenght so wisely use
our wisdom cannot be decieved
wake up and take from them
the wealth they took from us
wake up and suprise them
and make our homes the dream land
the dream land of our fathers
those that fought till sleep came
and those that still wait for sleep to emerge
wake up and let them know
that our wealth we can manage
to make our homes eden
the eden our fathers lived in
For our tribes are stong
as strong as the lion
the lion accros the equator
our home the heart of Africa
Copyright © Magnus Nwagu Amudi Esq | Year Posted 2007
Lights flashing, people clashing
Arms and legs flying everywhere
People laughing, having fun
Dancing without a care
Feeling exhausted, want to rest
Have to find a chair
Can’t see the band because I have to stand
It isn’t fair!
Wait a minute, a gap at the front just opened up
Got to move fast, got to hurry up
If I want to get in there
Now my eyes are hurting from the glare of the lights
But being this close to the band is such a thrilling delight
Seeing them jumping around, hyping up the crowd is such an awesome sight!
Let’s hope they keep the crowd rocking into the night
As they sing their last song
For the final encore
I feel sad
I’d waited so long to see them
But I’m so glad I went along
And in a couple of years, they’ll be back once more!
Copyright © Katherine Hallam | Year Posted 2006
Well, this giddy little girl was tired of the SAME OLD SONG AND DANCE; she said I gotta get
rid of the MONKEY ON MY BACK, and find someone to TAKE ME TO THE OTHERSIDE...where
KINGS AND QUEENS are LIVIN ON THE EDGE...So I can taste the SWEET EMOTION,..learn
how to DRAW THE LINE and LET THE MUSIC DO THE TALKING...
So, as she started on her PERMANENT VACATION the idea was to KISS HER PAST
GOODBYE....though it was NOBODY'S FAULT she knew she had to FLY AWAY FROM HERE...
The LAST CHILD of a bunch counting five, she had to do WHAT IT TAKES to stay alive...So
with just a LICK AND A PROMISE and her LIGHT INSIDE she WALKED ON DOWN with a
THREE MILE SMILE.
She came upon a BLIND MAN they call UNCLE SALTY who saw her CRYIN and said I'll show
you the way to your MAMA KIN... as they traveled on she began to CHIP AWAY THE
STONE...and put all her SEASONS OF WITHER behind her.
Finally arriving to find MOTHER POPCORN who blessed her with this sound advice:
Take the long path my JADED one, past the HANGMAN JURY and down to the FARM...WALK
ON WATER and realize that there is NO SUPRISE... though there may be RATS IN THE
CELLAR there is always CHEESE CAKE in your eyes.
Now she rides the TRAIN THAT KEEPS ROLLIN with the LORD OF THE THIGHS hoping they
can COME TOGETHER in the SUNSHINE of the MOVIE and DREAM ON here inside their
AVANT GARDEN !
Copyright © Martha Reeves | Year Posted 2008
Do you want to hear a story, perhaps an anecdote or two . . .
There is a place to do it, when life caves in on you.
There is a group of people who share their lives today . . .
I found them only by happy circumstance, as I was traveling this way.
They get together once a month, to tell tales of their past . . .
Each one in their particular way have stories that will last.
Each one could talk for hours on end, and there would be no lulls . . .
For the times and places they have been, are etched upon their souls.
Their pleasure in remembering is a joy to all who hear . . .
We like to listen to the tales they tell, they give us all a cheer.
The lives they have led, the people they've known, the places they've been to . . .
Are celebrated with us each month, as if we'd been there too.
The moments in time that in our hasty lives, we often will forget . . .
Are cherished now as memories, especially the ones we seem to fret.
Memories, I know, are not for us alone and need to be shared . . .
Even the ones we don't want to think on, the ones that made us scared.
The stories they share with us are not just a reason for rhyme . . .
But I wanted each of them to know, how much I enjoy this time.
Because of them, I have remembered so many things of my own past . . .
Times that I'd forgotten, but have come back to me at last.
The darkest corners of memory are brightened by their chat . . .
I, for one, know I will always be grateful for that.
Our thought are put in new perspective - even the darkest ones we save . . .
But however dark and grim they are, as memories they behave.
To all the MEMORY MAKERS present and past who grace us all this way . . .
This rhyme is for you, "Thank You" for sharing your lives with us, past, present, and today.
Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010
She’s the princess of the world of silence.
Existing outside our normal human touch,
She sees every good, bad, deed we do.
She passes no judgment, just perseverance.
Realizing this world has choice, as such.
Caring not what we decide, or even a clue.
Her soul was guided by plain experience.
Her mind unrivaled, and new very much,
Her name, Rain; with eyes of light blue,
Lips that glimmered, true, effervescence,
Her name was given from her first touch.
Upon the day she was born, it came anew.
Christening with name in natures balance,
Her destiny preordained in gentle touch.
Who would win her heart, capturing dew?
Dew, one of her two faithful acquaintances,
They chatted in a language, Double Dutch.
Mist, the second, now you know of the two.
Stallions, white twins, with no ambivalence,
Only she could speak, hear, revealing crutch.
No other could tell differences in her crew.
One to be her prince in adoring excellence,
Must win confidence of dew in his touch,
No mistake, no second chance for woo.
Many have tried to no avail in adolescence.
Only one pauper’s son left to offer such.
One chance to know, to choose right skew,
His mind, unconsciously knew adherence.
When he prepared his choice, a quick clutch,
His choices correct, all others they bid adieu.
Her companion was chosen, forever attendance.
He rode mist, she road dew, in blissful touch
His heart and soul was, sincere, more than true
Princess and pauper together, rode into silence.
Peace prevailed in their land, never violence.
Princess Rain, now Prince Veil road in balance.
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name Rain, The Story
Written by cecil Hickman
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
Put your hand in mine
Take a walk through my rhyme
Catch a cool vibe just relax
There's a place I know
Where the artisans go
To a quaint little bar by the tracks
It's where the misfits of art
Perform with such heart
And nobody feels out of place
And then Renda Writer
Sits down beside ya'
To tell you, you got what it takes
Come and feel for yourself
Come sing, or recite, or just play
Cause every artisan knows
When they come to Kevro's
The poets will blow them away
Copyright © Billy Hitz | Year Posted 2015
The good is evil and the evil is good;
The omen is clear,yet,no one reads,
The signal is up, still no one heeds,
There is but one use of power,
It is to save people,
But all we hear of power is trouble,
Everyone wants to get and use it,
They want to gain popularity,
Winning elections a neccesity,
Campaigns all exaggerations,
Their evil deeds no explanation,
Well-wishers they are yet to woo,
Birds chatter where they woo,
Birds chatter where they coo,
The desire to be famous is an attempt,
Forgetting that familiarity breeds contempt;
Speeches are delivered in lying tongues,
Manifestoes in dying souls,
People are suffering,children are dying,
Still,they're obstinate and blind,
Passing frrom deception to deception,
And to final illusion,
Host in the wonder of their own greatness.
Copyright © NWANDO OBIANYOR | Year Posted 2007
In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple,
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies,
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!
The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year...
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!
God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!
Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007
Everywhere people there
I stopped to look at an old lady fair
She was only alone
Licking her ice cream from a crunchy sweet cone
Sitting and enjoying her treat
While many a men around sweep their young ladies off their feet
Nobody came to claim her
Just enjoying what she was having
Not bothering to get up from her chair
My eyes wept for her because she had not a gentle man beside her
We all come and go while the rest of her generation starts to slow
Alas,my friend,they are soon forgotten and are cast out to the wild winds
Everytime that I would come to this shopping mall
My eyes would peer at an old mistress small
Not even a small collie or pup for a companion
Just a little lady enjoying her treasured ice cream
Copyright © Bart Jonas | Year Posted 2006
Ever since humans sought the supernatural,
confusion seemed bizarre and hysterical;
within hills and mountains they erected their temples,
sang their praises to appease
their gods, who were thought to be angry at times...
what they were trying to accomplish
was to feel the presence of a spirit which granted their wishes!
How wonderful is the faith of true believers,
and they don't build cathedrals
as far as the unreachable sky;
the God they're searching for..is as close
as the depth of their faithful heart!
How loud are their voices,at sunrise, that ascend
like seagulls...to transform themselves
into a celestial chorus with a crescendo...
that draws them closer to a sky of indigo!
In the streets of this Babylonian craze,
religion is without atonement,
but there's plenty of defiled grace
to be consumed as the exquisitive
food of a privileged banquet...
where a doubter is rediculed by laughs and condemned;
human,human race where does God live?...
And does He approve of your false zest?
How wonderful is the faith of true believers,
clinging to that sublime hope, rising from light,
to reach Heaven without having to go through Hell;
how humble is the aspiration of the true faithful...
not relying on astrology,avoiding all kinds of deceit!
Be watchful and shun pretentiousness...
worship Him truthfully and assert your claim;
nobody but you can decide what's right!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007
Desire make me flee to England's shore,
to Stafford where Shakespeare wrote
sonnets by candlelight and moonbeams;
let me open the tall, wooden front door,
to see him in that corner weaving a thought,
swiftly turning them into theatrical schemes!
Ah, he weeps for a past tragedy he witnessed,
making those tears flow on clean sheets
that leave him heartbroken and drenched in tears!
Oh, those sad moments seem to disappear
as he dreams of unforgotten faces he loved...
and many say he didn't feel joy but fear!
Shakespeare's spirit is not a common phantom whose voice can't
be heard everywhere it rumbles...listen attentively, don't fret!
Glance at his pensive face, read the inspirational words of any play
he's writing on paper for all to ponder in their own, persuasive way!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
A misty Scottish gale blows fierce
From the grey that clouds the hills
I step onto her western way
Desolate, damp and chilled
Her grasses grow brown and lavender
Stretching as far as I can see
While Hill tops and the horizon
Lead me deep into a peaty sea
From the banks of black Loch Tula
At the base of rocky Bens,
I walk this winding pathway
Bearing forward to Ba bridge
I stop to survey the ruins
That were once, hardier than I
And climb up to a mountain's pass
with Glencoe in my sights
The Buachaille and Beinn a' Chrulaiste
Towers high out from the fog
Herding me towards the gateway
Of the Glen and from the bog
And yet that cold wind continues
Against me all the while
And the rain blows much harder
Urging me to turn away
But the Highland call has taken me
From far enough away
That I see the moor's true beauty
Even on this rainy day.
Copyright © Justin Clason | Year Posted 2017
His legendary name will be immortalized
in America's books of history,
and his bravery and heroism
always remembered by us:
the biggest heart driven
by an immense generosity!
When rushed into the thick smoke,
his searching eyes shone
even brighter than the clear morning;
the danger ahead
could not keep him
from saving people trapped in strairways,
people who wailed and waited
in the tower's darkness!
He left behind an indelible legacy,
to let all see what he truly loved;
to inspire them with motivation
and he never was afraid to show affection,
or his unique side of humanity:
that's what he fervently believed!
John,even this total stranger
proudly calls you by name
for having been so brave;
a mother, a father, a son,a sister or friend
who didn't lose anyone, because of your deed,
remembers you in prayer:
and I, a total stranger,related by blood,
praise you in words that'll never grow old!
John,you may be invisible to all,
but your presence is still felt by us;
your handome sons and lovely wife grieve,
but their grief has turned
into something wonderful:
a duty that has been fulfilled
by your call and sacrifice;
a destiny willed by God!
If everyone judges an individual only
by what one has achieved in a lifetime:
you were one of the truest heroes of our time,
who has left his mark on this twentieth century;
and if anyone doubts you did all that,
your devotion can testify and reject that!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2006