This is a fable…a small table set for two, moonlight, a gentle breeze as the stars frame the beauty of you.
Amazed by the love in your eyes, each time ours met, as words not needed — if spoken, not heeded.
When heart as light refracted bends to produce a rainbow of beauty, as seemingly charted upon loves duty.
A tender moment shared, is as much for the moment dared.
Life’s victories are not without cost. This bitter reality rang true for every first responder who gathered below, and without hesitation ran upwards before the towers fell.
On that day the courageous of Flight 93, in which the will and tenacity of the passengers aboard shattered the momentary calm of that Pennsylvania field before cooling metal and fire made that same field silent save for the wind and Nature’s sounds, take control again.
Held blameless is Fate, an innocent bystander this time, or Mercy, although plenty was found on that shaken and crushed pile of smoldering tears, the World beheld.
There was terror filling the hearts of Humanity that day, as cheers from the ignorant are washed away by the tears of multitudes.
Can we forgive those that formulated and then produced such an end, yes, some of us can, because as some cried out it was the Will of Allah, know we that because of the freedom GOD has indeed pledged to Mankind so this terrible act is a reward of the same freedoms.
We as Humanity, can persevere and do, it is a Blessing from GOD that allows us freedom to act positively or in a small segment of the World’s population–negatively.
We do this–forgive, because we can, but, never ever believe we will forget. Selah.
Crush my heart. End the misery.
As does the Earth to a pebble
dropping from the heavens above.
Hope is vaporized in an instant as
quickly as we see the tiny bright
illuminating star, which upon
drawing closer–ceases to be.
Rocking to and fro, unique but to myself…the hospital staff observes but from a polite distance. I whimper, when I think one is near to hear. I hold my breath until I might faint. Sweating, lips parted, I gasp until one comes to mop my brow and gently place wet swabs by which I draw water past my lips.
I’m running as fast as I can,
the crowd is screaming, streaming
behind my desperate wake. Frightened, I look not left nor right but run, run, run. I try to remember–if you are right handed run to the left. Never…I feel the pain in my back and
stumble forward. The crowd catches me and begin to pummel my face and body with fists, sticks, the odd brick.
I’m dying from the blood flow out of my back. What, do you mean
“burn the Warlock, burn the Warlock, burn the Warlock”–as I drift off to sleep.