“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
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And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?
Archilochus
One of my cousins had a friend who worked near the WTC. She was on the ground as body after body exploded upon impact from those jumps. She was never able to work again -- the trauma was that bad for her. She was in her 30s.
This video is hard to watch. Makes me sad and angry at the same time.
My daughter, a sixth-grader, watched some of this very footage in her classroom yesterday. Most kids, including her were in their infancy when this occurred... But she said that most every child was crying or clearly trying not to.
And like you, I'm still angry. A simmering, never ending anger.
5 comments:
One of my cousins had a friend who worked near the WTC. She was on the ground as body after body exploded upon impact from those jumps. She was never able to work again -- the trauma was that bad for her. She was in her 30s.
This video is hard to watch. Makes me sad and angry at the same time.
Sorry, but "anger" is the emotion that keeps me going.
A Wry Memorial
The Swarthy Ones took over;
And made weapons of four planes.
The riders had no cover;
They suffered dreadful pains
That ended once their deathtraps
Burst into roaring fires
Turning instantly to mere scraps––
Cinders––made of former flyers.
The burning towers crumpled,
And fell into the street.
New York was more than rumpled;
Briefly, it knew defeat.
The nation drew together;
We felt collective grief.
Anger broke its tether;
To express it gave relief.
But only ten years hence
We're at each other's throats;
We've built ourselves a fence
Over which the Devil gloats.
We've failed to give the orders
To build a proper wall
Sealing off our borders
To the fiends who’d have us fall.
Instead, we've made division––
Went to war against ourselves––
And are mired in derision
Sparked by partisan elves,
Who forget this blessed land
In pursuit of powers lost
In close elections manned
By fraud. So, tempest-tossed
The country is in turmoil.
The enemy's our own.
He says it's all for Big Oil,
And he'll soon usurp the Throne.
The heap of twisted rubble
Raising toxic fumes for weeks
No longer gives us trouble
Because of media leaks
Designed to throw us off the scent
Of whom we need to blame
And encourage ruinous dissent
That hopes to break the frame
That holds us all together
And preserves our liberty,
So many now doubt whether
We really should be free.
And each rabble rousing louse
Should 'neath these words be pinned:
"He who troubleth his own house
Shall inherit–––the wind"
~ FreeThinke
My daughter, a sixth-grader, watched some of this very footage in her classroom yesterday. Most kids, including her were in their infancy when this occurred... But she said that most every child was crying or clearly trying not to.
And like you, I'm still angry. A simmering, never ending anger.
Hold onto it. Nothing worth doing is ever easy.
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