I don’t trust
bright sunny
Tuesdays
in early September
anymore.
My plan was to write
nine stanzas of
eleven words each,
my poetic tribute
to the fallen,
but 99 words won’t say it
and 2,977 victims won’t
hear it.
12 years gone
and I am still
buried under
the weight of it all.
Underneath the
confetti rubble,
broken masonry,
shattered glass,
melted steel,
this heart weeps
angry
but impotent,
as nothing will undo the day
and repeated viewings
do not
desensitize me
as they should.
I want vengeance,
I want to wreak havoc
and mayhem,
but I know
that is not my domain.
I want blood,
but remember
that I have been saved
by His blood,
so I pray,
hopeful that it’s enough,
while trying to solve
this impossible puzzle
with 3D pieces
scattered
throughout the
galaxy,
and trying not
to give in to
the empty,
unforgiving silence.
[Posted for #OpenLinkNight @www.dversepoets.com - my home away from home online. Come on and share your thoughts and feelings.]
