Paper deaths mounting in pages written
By authors and reporters
On the day of bloodshed twenty-one years after
The morning news
Around the world
That our Towers fell on innocence; walking, living, twirling the streets of Manhattan.
Tears are shed in buckets of smoke between the sheets of death
The men and women that died shine through the wicked divide
Of hatred and love
Flames of courage cape first responders, and unknown heroes
Beaming down every morning
On tables arranged by nations and religions
In the homes of Democrats and Republicans
United tears all of these years.
Months turn over on calendars
New episodes and reality shows
Graduation and separation
Replaced furnishings and
Sketches of a vacation
Events the rest of us chatter up in coffee houses
While the stories of nine-eleven lay today in the headlines
On newsstands
In the windows of memory
Never forget
The inner voice where gaps of expression are liberated. 