I'm hurting and wanted to speak of this morning...

I'm hurting and wanted to speak of this morning...

A Poem by Chris

It’s a Tuesday… had to be, HAD to be.  How deeply can you cry?  I was laying here… shaking, shivering, and hurting - nothing really new - this morning.  I had turned on the TV for noise - to be less alone in a gray, cold dawn.  Laying here awake… awake - watching life re-unfold… awake as the early dawn brought back my “view”.  You really aren’t supposed to see Angels fly into the ground - you know?  You really, really aren’t supposed to see it - again and again… and again - whenever you close your eyes... awake, asleep - watching what you can’t forget; life replaying over and over.

 

I wrote this at 3:29 AM, 9/12/2001  and just cried - again.

 

September11.txt     text docu...     9/12/2001 3:29 AM

 

"September 11, 2001..."

 

Tears carry a price…

and the silence is never just

behind your eyes - at 3 AM.

 

Side by side by side by side

Four columns wide

a whole world long.

Candles lit and carried close

as dear to these

as those they lost.

The world echoes loud

with the piper's sounds

and the tapping of the drums.

 

Innocence found holding hands

while falling through the sky.

Each Angel flows so silently past,

their wings - their shrouds - remaining furled,

awaiting all the time in their world

as God draws them close

with muffled smile as each returns home.

 

Un-forgotten faiths drawn and

held close equally by all -

the moments’ terrors felt so deep within -

they tried, reached, watched, hoped…

as friends, some unknown just before,

die helping as best they could...

as only true friends would.

 

Fearful bravery and with

streaming tears...

forever marring their ash strewn world.

Lives now endlessly new - new

yet forever marked

by what was lost...

humanity's cost.

 

Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters;

husbands and wives and children too;

beloveds and all the others;

Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Jews -

people of every human hue

in common instant deathly gray

this night made of an Indian Summer's day.

 

I watched and saw and heard...

the sanity of madness,

the sanctity of murder,

the 'rightness' of doing wrong,

singing for the death of innocents,

dancing for the blood of children,

laughter for the loss of all...

and I cried.

 

Chris

© 2013 Chris


Author's Note

Chris
feel free...

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Reviews

Forever and always are so easily written ..

And so often planned and pondered upon

As are Today .. Tonight .. and Tomorrow


Take Care Chris ..

Love, Jazz





Posted 11 Years Ago




Posted 11 Years Ago


we are here for you

Posted 11 Years Ago


I am not going to say anything
just...think of you often

Posted 11 Years Ago


You catch the next flight to Goa...
i tell you...
I will take good care of you....

Posted 11 Years Ago



5
next Next Page
last Last Page
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

1759 Views
45 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on March 19, 2013
Last Updated on March 22, 2013
Tags: Poetry, Writing, CHris

Author

Chris
Chris

Lansing, MI



About
"Life is a terminal disease." All the doctors have basically told me so. "Life is an adventure... Pain, well you deal. Thanks for being here. 06/21/2020 I'm back and working on. I've been.. more..

Writing

Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..