The World That Day Stopped

The ash fell from the sky, a thick, dark

cloud of death and destruction raining

from the towers of high finance

and power, a symbol, bred perhaps

of arrogance and decadence, a dark cloud

covering us as we fled, our ashen shrouds

an imposed sackcloth, facing our own ends,

seeking a savior, and our loud cries unheard

above the din of falling ash;

 

- and the world that day stopped -

 

replaced with fear and hatred,

a fear and hatred of those unlike us

in color and creed, beliefs and governance,

those responsible for this, those to blame,

those who looked like them, spoke

like them, worshipped like them, anyone

unlike us, kith and kin, neighbors and friends

who have shared our lives, difference reason

enough now for our hatred, enough now for our fear,

a fear that runs deep, and a mistrust now revealed,

born of that fear, a mistrust morphing onto anyone,

anything deemed different from me,

an imagined enemy threatening our being,

that which we love, that which we are.

 

And the cries of victory ring out

in a foreign country, ring out for a victory

over infidels brought down, crying out still today.

 

And we weep for what we’ve lost,

weep for what we’ve become,

afraid and alone, seeking a way home

through the ash that fell from the sky,

a dark cloud of death and destruction.