A Poem Years in the Making by a Very Talented Poet Please Share

The Woeful September

 

Here at Ground Zero,

    my soul could hear

    the fear-sired cries

    of the maimed and martyrized.

Here at Ground Zero,

    wrathful phrases—

    alien as battlefields

    before my being became a being—

    exploded off my tongue,

    and this wrathfulness—

    deadlier than a butcher's cleaver—

    lacerated away love with hate. 

Here at Ground Zero,

    I lamented

    the twin metal-constructed mountains.

    I filled urns with tears for each stranger

    who was assassinated

    by Lucifer-conceived hijackers.

Here at Ground Zero,

    the police, firefighters, paramedics

    and construction workers,

    Archangel-Michael-comparable heroes,

    were trying to sever

    tragedy’s girders

    on the buried masses.

Here at Ground Zero,

    I realized,

    despite the bereavement-filled rubble,

    the brave made the vanquish   

    of numerous natives

    and visitors appear victorious.

Here at Ground Zero,

    our rescuers declared

    why zealotry-impelled cells

    could not defeat a need for

    “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

Here at Ground Zero,

     I saw respect remove a woeful wound.

 

by Bob McNeil

Copyright 2014