In Remembrance
Posted: 2020-09-11 13:02:02
Road to Damascus
Those dreams of sanctuary are gone.
Felled abruptly from above in one burning blinding sweep.
Burying complacency and innocence alike in smoking ruin
And shocked survivors face the trembling crumble of a civilization.
The poet falls helpless
Like some broken marionette, whose puppeteer has fled.
Tangled in slackening strings,
Collapsing in mid-dance without a guide
As branches overhead, blast by bitter wind, wither on a dying tree.
Barren and wasted.
The long-awaited sun, stillborn.
Words have lost their former power.
A wounded world cries out for action.
And those too self-absorbed, who feel their way through life,
Find personal introspection held as sacrilege
By this poignant throbbing of collective grief.
Where are the answers to an echoing monotony of futile questions?
Spilling, dry as dust, down through the ages.
What meaning in the meaningless?
Stark reminder of paternal sins
That curse and blight successive generations.
A little solace is sought amid familiar warmth of flesh and fur.
Suddenly, there is priceless value in a child's smile
Or the simple certitude of reassuring paws.
Hope lies defined in banks of flowers
And a fragile memory of last summer's blueberries.
9/17/01
Difficult to believe that nineteen years have passed by . . . God bless us all.
Those dreams of sanctuary are gone.
Felled abruptly from above in one burning blinding sweep.
Burying complacency and innocence alike in smoking ruin
And shocked survivors face the trembling crumble of a civilization.
The poet falls helpless
Like some broken marionette, whose puppeteer has fled.
Tangled in slackening strings,
Collapsing in mid-dance without a guide
As branches overhead, blast by bitter wind, wither on a dying tree.
Barren and wasted.
The long-awaited sun, stillborn.
Words have lost their former power.
A wounded world cries out for action.
And those too self-absorbed, who feel their way through life,
Find personal introspection held as sacrilege
By this poignant throbbing of collective grief.
Where are the answers to an echoing monotony of futile questions?
Spilling, dry as dust, down through the ages.
What meaning in the meaningless?
Stark reminder of paternal sins
That curse and blight successive generations.
A little solace is sought amid familiar warmth of flesh and fur.
Suddenly, there is priceless value in a child's smile
Or the simple certitude of reassuring paws.
Hope lies defined in banks of flowers
And a fragile memory of last summer's blueberries.
9/17/01
Difficult to believe that nineteen years have passed by . . . God bless us all.