My homage to the world trade center "Twin Towers"
The rain that bathed us last night has stopped
the morning picturesquely glorious in its tranquility
the sun is bright its rays warm the soul as a cool front rides
an easy wind and the clouds nudge us as they pass on by
the Mother of Freedom smiles at my twin brother who is
South and me I am North
and as only an emperor could my stately mentor
overlooks his sphere of influence in the distance is the
house that Ruth built and a zoo with a garden in botanical
splendor and a concourse that does a boulevard grand
I turn and there lies majesty her unisphere resting in the
meadows where the world had fairs in a place where a
mayor and a president left their names to fly
to my east I see the elder statesmen suspended in glory
one named for the place that is our home with a way that
is white and great and a park that is central and a central
station that is grand the other is named for a place in the
land of kings where the roller coaster is a Cyclone and
Ebbets once stood and Nefertiti and Cleopatra pay visits
in the sprit of their spent artifacts
as the splendor of this morn begins its unfolding and the
opulence that is this city of our birth engulfs me a sudden
eeriness invades my moment the clouds stare in horror
an explosion rocks me I sway to absorb the shock as
terror riding the wings of a bird of metal its blood a cocktail
of fossil fuel implants fury into my upper ribs and
I am assaulted
with an inferno now raging within me I begin my battle of
preservation the wind says stay up my friend I am at your
side the sun warns me to be cautious of my now smoldering
fever as this unspeakable issuance of terror begins its
journey to submerge our city in fear I issue the liquid of my
veins to arrest this growing furnace
the Mother of Freedom watches her stunned silence fraught
with anger and she seems to lower her torch hiding its
golden flame that beacon of welcome
as panic captures those who toil within the cubicles of my
edifice heat and smoke torment them choking the breath
from their burning lungs shattered glass rains upon them
spilling their blood as death beckons
as this inferno escalates its terrifying rage I hear the cry
of my brother for on the back of yet another bird rides this
continuing wave of terror that wedges itself into his upper
torso and begins its carnage
the innocent with death calling their names wonder why
and a city wonders how
as the overwhelming fusion of heat and man permeates
the air screams of pain leave their indelible scar in the sky
and those unable to endure the destruction that would
encase them in this catacomb of fire exploding bricks and
collapsing walls
take refuge on the wings of a cloud
I see her tears the Mother of Freedom weeps as brave
men covered in the residue of fire with blood escaping the
wounds of terror ascend this mountain of death within me
and smoke burning walls and a fleeing populace retard
their progress
the morning light now blackened by smoke paper with
pieces of my fabric and that of my brother forms a noxious
carpet and a mixture of pulverized concrete fossil fuel and
humanity cloaks this metropolis in crisis
with panic invading the mind chaos reigns and death calls
the names of terrified children
as my battle takes its toll I sway and twist my strength fades
the joints that hold my ribs in place feel stress bolts snap
girders heated by this unforgiving furnace stretch and bend
barley able to withstand their vertical load
the wind pleads with me to stay strong the clouds and the
sun echo the sentiment
but as my core succumbs to a heat so extreme I cannot
endure and betray the will to survive and rib by solitary rib
I implode suffocating our city in a toxic cloud
and my brother cries not because death called our names
but because death let terror use us
as we arrive at this place in the sky my brother turned his
voice quivering
my sorrow runs bottomless my disappointment eternal
that we no longer live in the city of our birth the city that
is our love
as I feel his pain and echo his sentiment I look down on this
empire of a state
and on this Eleventh September morn
I see our city cry
Earl S. Jackson
May 2002
Copyright © 2006 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
Poetry by Earl Jackson
Read 733 times
Written on 2006-08-20 at 21:21
Tags Contemporary
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The Towers
The rain that bathed us last night has stopped
the morning picturesquely glorious in its tranquility
the sun is bright its rays warm the soul as a cool front rides
an easy wind and the clouds nudge us as they pass on by
the Mother of Freedom smiles at my twin brother who is
South and me I am North
and as only an emperor could my stately mentor
overlooks his sphere of influence in the distance is the
house that Ruth built and a zoo with a garden in botanical
splendor and a concourse that does a boulevard grand
I turn and there lies majesty her unisphere resting in the
meadows where the world had fairs in a place where a
mayor and a president left their names to fly
to my east I see the elder statesmen suspended in glory
one named for the place that is our home with a way that
is white and great and a park that is central and a central
station that is grand the other is named for a place in the
land of kings where the roller coaster is a Cyclone and
Ebbets once stood and Nefertiti and Cleopatra pay visits
in the sprit of their spent artifacts
as the splendor of this morn begins its unfolding and the
opulence that is this city of our birth engulfs me a sudden
eeriness invades my moment the clouds stare in horror
an explosion rocks me I sway to absorb the shock as
terror riding the wings of a bird of metal its blood a cocktail
of fossil fuel implants fury into my upper ribs and
I am assaulted
with an inferno now raging within me I begin my battle of
preservation the wind says stay up my friend I am at your
side the sun warns me to be cautious of my now smoldering
fever as this unspeakable issuance of terror begins its
journey to submerge our city in fear I issue the liquid of my
veins to arrest this growing furnace
the Mother of Freedom watches her stunned silence fraught
with anger and she seems to lower her torch hiding its
golden flame that beacon of welcome
as panic captures those who toil within the cubicles of my
edifice heat and smoke torment them choking the breath
from their burning lungs shattered glass rains upon them
spilling their blood as death beckons
as this inferno escalates its terrifying rage I hear the cry
of my brother for on the back of yet another bird rides this
continuing wave of terror that wedges itself into his upper
torso and begins its carnage
the innocent with death calling their names wonder why
and a city wonders how
as the overwhelming fusion of heat and man permeates
the air screams of pain leave their indelible scar in the sky
and those unable to endure the destruction that would
encase them in this catacomb of fire exploding bricks and
collapsing walls
take refuge on the wings of a cloud
I see her tears the Mother of Freedom weeps as brave
men covered in the residue of fire with blood escaping the
wounds of terror ascend this mountain of death within me
and smoke burning walls and a fleeing populace retard
their progress
the morning light now blackened by smoke paper with
pieces of my fabric and that of my brother forms a noxious
carpet and a mixture of pulverized concrete fossil fuel and
humanity cloaks this metropolis in crisis
with panic invading the mind chaos reigns and death calls
the names of terrified children
as my battle takes its toll I sway and twist my strength fades
the joints that hold my ribs in place feel stress bolts snap
girders heated by this unforgiving furnace stretch and bend
barley able to withstand their vertical load
the wind pleads with me to stay strong the clouds and the
sun echo the sentiment
but as my core succumbs to a heat so extreme I cannot
endure and betray the will to survive and rib by solitary rib
I implode suffocating our city in a toxic cloud
and my brother cries not because death called our names
but because death let terror use us
as we arrive at this place in the sky my brother turned his
voice quivering
my sorrow runs bottomless my disappointment eternal
that we no longer live in the city of our birth the city that
is our love
as I feel his pain and echo his sentiment I look down on this
empire of a state
and on this Eleventh September morn
I see our city cry
Earl S. Jackson
May 2002
Copyright © 2006 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
Poetry by Earl Jackson
Read 733 times
Written on 2006-08-20 at 21:21
Tags Contemporary
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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