I wrote this poem the same night the tragedy happened. I just saw a promo of the movie about 9-1-1. I still get queasy. It makes it hard for me to keep Christian thoughts of, 'forgive-thine-enemy,' and not wish that a tragedy of the Hiroshima, Nagasaki magnitude be inflicted on the perpetrators of this calamity.
The only connection that rivets me to that tragic event is that two of my coworkers died in the transmitting towers of CBS, and that there were others of the television industry that were lost also. God, forgive me for my thoughts.
There was this Tower in Manhattan,
It was a foot short of touching heaven.
It was majestic, yet shamelessly plain, that was it's proud beauty.
The windows could look out, but not in.
That was because the spirit was on the inside, like you and me.
The strength was built into it's bones of steel.
Its façade was mostly glass, to reflect the sun on the adoring crowds.
The blood on the inside was the people that ran throughout, in organized chaos.
It had a twin, that kept an eye on the Lady in the Harbor,
and she showed her torch, that pointed to the them as a friend might do.
A while back, she had problem with a bomb,
but the doctors of construction made her whole again,
and now in this ignominious end, the tower and the twin lie in repose together,
for one could not exist without the other.
Now there is just a tower of rubble, and the Lady in the harbor Has a tear in her eye.
But her torch burns resolutely.