Post by Allison on Sept 11, 2017 20:21:41 GMT -5
Not sure where to put this. Mods, feel free to move if you feel the need.
16 years ago today. Hard to believe. I was a senior in high school, and can tell you exactly what I did the rest of the day after I found out. Half of today's high schoolers were born after 9/11. I feel old.
Inspiration hit me suddenly, and I adapted and added to a poem I had written a few years ago. I now have a true 9/11 tribute poem.
16 years ago today. Hard to believe. I was a senior in high school, and can tell you exactly what I did the rest of the day after I found out. Half of today's high schoolers were born after 9/11. I feel old.
Inspiration hit me suddenly, and I adapted and added to a poem I had written a few years ago. I now have a true 9/11 tribute poem.
Heroes
The boots have made their prints in the ash and soot
Only to be washed away;
His feet run to danger,
Not away.
The pants are scuffed and dirty from falling on the concrete
As he races up the stairs;
But they also are scuffed from kneeling down
To comfort a victim coming down.
The jacket is smudged and burned,
Even it couldn’t stand the intense heat.
It reminds him of his torn and tattered heart,
As he thinks of those he is attempting to reach.
The helmet is secured,
Protecting his head.
The mask attached to his tanks,
But the fumes are too strong and seep through.
An axe in gloved hands,
To tear through the walls,
Entrapping people
In a fiery furnace.
The boots now lay empty,
The pants and jacket carefully folded.
The helmet rests on top,
An ax beside them.
A cross-beam of steel.
Names upon monuments.
A new tower of freedom.
Flags stand at half-staff.
On this day of remembrance,
We look back to that day
When our very foundation was shaken,
But not broken.
We will never forget.
We will always stand
As a beacon
For freedom, heroism, and bravery.
May God continue to bless America,
Home of the free and the brave.
(First written Nov. 7, 2012, as a tribute to our soldiers. Adapted Sep. 11, 2017.)
The boots have made their prints in the ash and soot
Only to be washed away;
His feet run to danger,
Not away.
The pants are scuffed and dirty from falling on the concrete
As he races up the stairs;
But they also are scuffed from kneeling down
To comfort a victim coming down.
The jacket is smudged and burned,
Even it couldn’t stand the intense heat.
It reminds him of his torn and tattered heart,
As he thinks of those he is attempting to reach.
The helmet is secured,
Protecting his head.
The mask attached to his tanks,
But the fumes are too strong and seep through.
An axe in gloved hands,
To tear through the walls,
Entrapping people
In a fiery furnace.
The boots now lay empty,
The pants and jacket carefully folded.
The helmet rests on top,
An ax beside them.
A cross-beam of steel.
Names upon monuments.
A new tower of freedom.
Flags stand at half-staff.
On this day of remembrance,
We look back to that day
When our very foundation was shaken,
But not broken.
We will never forget.
We will always stand
As a beacon
For freedom, heroism, and bravery.
May God continue to bless America,
Home of the free and the brave.
(First written Nov. 7, 2012, as a tribute to our soldiers. Adapted Sep. 11, 2017.)