Twin Towers, Soaring High
©Nancy L. Meek September, 2003

The apple of our nation's eye,
peeled t'ward a brighter dream
gleaming, where eagles, free, surely fly
with seeming ease in heaven's sky.

Who could know the day would come
we would see them crumble and fall
the terror of the evil, the total sum,
evoking disbelief from one and all?

Who could have seen the signs
on that serene September dawn
a nation would change with the times,
the war delivered to her own front lawn?

As Lady Liberty gazed from the harbour,
shrouded by smoke and billowing flames,
the heart of a nation, with intense ardor,
succombed to the heat of human games.

Just for an instant, the world stood still
with us, grieving, praying we would survive.
Who could've believed our streets would fill
with so many innocent no longer alive?

Who could have known two years hence
we'd send sons and daughters over the sea
in a desperate attempt to quell the sense
our future's not as bright as it used to be?

Out of dire fear of what others might do,
pre-emptive war became the plan of the day
despite the fact it might tear us in two...
like the towers...each with a different view.

Twin Towers, soaring high...

A lustrous vision in our nation's eye...
steeled t'ward a brighter dream
gleaming, when suddenly, from the sky
the innocent leaped...and we began to cry.

Who could have known the day would come
nothing would seem to make any sense...
the horrific events leaving everyone numb
only to declare war in our own defense!

What legacy are we destined to leave
in the name of those who died that day
trapped beneath the beams and debris,
if it means mores lives will be taken away?

Twin Towers, crashing down...

"Pruned or disciplined?" We frown...
each steered t'ward a growing pride,
rising, where eagles, aloft, surely drown
with seeming ease, a world upside-down.

Who knows the day must surely come
we all will stand before God's throne
called to account for what each has done,
with nowhere to hide, naked and alone!

Who knows war only begets more war...
an endless cycle of death and despair;
Is this the solution...what we abhor?
If there's to be no peace on earth, then where?

Twin towers, soaring high...

Embedded in our hearts, we will fight and die,
eyes peeled still t'ward a brighter dream
gleaming, where spirits, free, surely fly
with seeming ease in heaven's sky.

peace dove peace dove
Graphic (minus doves) Courtesy of Steve Robertson
Looking South to the World Trade Center National Archive Photo

eagle_fly eagle_fly

eagle_fly eagle_fly
New York, NY, September 18, 2001 -- A soldier stops to view the wreckage of the World Trade Center. Photo by Andrea Booher/ FEMA News Photo

Where Was I
September 11?

©Nancy L. Meek 02-17-03

Where was I, you ask...
the morning the world cried?

Well, I was just living my dream
scanning charges for narcotics
dispensed to our patients
just wishing my day was over

that is,
until I heard the newsflash
blaring from a patient's room
as nurses, hands-over-mouths,
gasped at our towers falling

my mind flew
to the infirmed soul on the bed
humming some childhood tune
an opiatic stupor saving him
from knowing a nation's pain

somber and sober
what ignorant bliss, I mused
as I reached the final page
praying God would have mercy
on those burning souls falling...

wishing their day wasn't over

New York, NY, September 17, 2001 -- FEMA Urban Search and Rescue teams work to clear rubble and search for survivors at the World Trade Center. Photo by Andrea Booher/ FEMA News Photo

New York, NY, September 18, 2001-- New York City firefighters take a break amidst the rubble of the World Trade Center. Photo by Andrea Booher/FEMA News Photo

Silent Garden
©Nancy L. Meek 02-17-03

Often, in the course of human events,
we must say a final farewell to the dead
offer eulogies laced with such eloquence
nothing better could ever be said;

But what words are still left to be wrung
from the hearts of those who survived?
What sorrowful song has not been sung
to express the horror still held inside?

What words will ever be strong enough
to express what our souls need to say?
Is there any poem or speech long enough
to make the hurt completely go away?

Walking through fields where others bled
we deal with our grief one day at a time
yet, we may never know why they are dead
in a world where nothing seems to rhyme.

We sow our seeds in this garden, called life
hoping they all will survive the storm
that the sun, in its glory, will part the night
with strong enough light to keep them warm.

We cross our fingers and pray for rain
but not too much, lest they all should drown.
Cultivating is hard and the thorns bring pain
but it's still worth it...when we look around.

But seasoned gardeners know all too well
some will wither and die on their stem
or just blend with the earth where they fell
as debris falls to finally cover them.

It is not ours to know who'll live...or die.
It is but ours to do the best we can.
In love with our flowers, we must try
To nurture the good seed given to man.

Stop living in breast-thumping remorse,
thinking if we'd only done this or done that,
we might have changed history's course
steered them from those heinous attacks.

It is wrong to tell another, "Just get over it!"
especially if you're not the tortured soul there
dealing with the greater close to it,
sorting through the clothes they used to wear.

A whiff of his cologne...her hair on a brush...
physical reminders of where they once trod.
'Tis not easy... feeling that sweet-awful rush...
knowing your roses are now in the arms of God.

What words, some ask, are still left to be wrung?
Plenty indeed, I say, in this sweet and sour plot.
In a silent garden, many songs are left unsung.
They are there...buried forever beneath that lot!

I weave these words, baring my soul to the world.
For what good it does, I still struggle to know.
All I know is: When I think of those roses unfurled,
I choke, wondering, "Why did they have to go?"

I still hear them calling...calling, softly and low.
There is no silent garden for me, no solace to be found!
Just for today, make them hush. Let the garden go!
'Tis a curse, no?..this empathy, killing without sound?

Often, in the course of human events,
we must say a final farewell to the dead;
but I am convinced, for all good intents,
such an adieu and my pen shall never wed!

May God bless the innocent victims
with Life and Love without cease
now in the arms of the Rose of Sharon
in Heaven's Garden of Eternal Peace




Dept of Defense Photo

the giant white EPA worker wash tent at Murray and West Streets

More Memorial Poems:

"Silent Skies"
"Flames in the Sky"
"View from Ground Zero"
"The Battle for Peace"
"A Brighter Tomorrow"
"Quiet Power"
"Amazing Grace"
"When September Morning Comes"
"Labor of Love"

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