September Eleven

It
streams
from a place of longing and pain that continues to flow as the clips and sound bites cloud chaotic space with noise memorial mentions of heartfelt grief intertwined with mementos dark, dusty, empty of life but not of soul that sail on in mind swells of anguish and speeches of good intentions but momentary yet triggering a rush a tumult a waterfall gushing without end pouring forth from ache that subsides in a day’s breath only to reawaken in a nightmare of shouts of thick fog full of fear
and voices searching
for an anchor of safety waiting for a touch a soothing that comes for some but not for all and in the waiting the images flicker in flashes of recurrence in endless assaults of horror unfathomably true carved in the iron of tribute and colourful words that trickle down from mouths called in to share something of import to weary eyes hurting hearts distracted ears and all the while a desire for ending a cease to familiar paths still taken in terrifying similarities that won’t go away having learned
absolutely nothing.

Paula Antonello Moore poetry to 9/11, copyright: Thursday, September 11, 2014

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