The moat where we keep watery fowl afloat feeding them cracked corn scattered from our parapets. Repaired the dry rot in the gate, got the drawbridge working, again…it rusts. There is dust, makes us sneeze. Stumble over stones, look at masons askance. Threaten grain withholding (hint: barley) unless they make ‘em flush. How fun to keep the keep shiny.
Always interested in concept of time travel and having to tackle situations with modern skill set. Never turns out well.
| two | | a nation | | twin | | built on | | towers | | ideals and | | rising | | grandest | | so high | | immigrant | | up into | | dreams | | the sky | | (and yes... | | repre- | | on ***** | | senting | | labor too) | | soaring | | a nation | | ambition | | of mighty | | & wealth | | paradoxes | ------------------------------------------------------------
and then ...BOOM... world changed
all all reduced broken to heaping by hateful piles of rubble brainwashed and raw emotion men drowned in tears & fears & rage.tears & fears & rage ------------------------------------------------------------
we rose from the ashes united in mourning national pride swelling emotions still swirling
we warmly embraced neighbors and friends overwhelmed with grief paralyzed by anguish
we explosively cursed those enemies who'd hurt us simmering in anger engulfed in fiery rage
we boldly surged into war to defend and protect blinded by our deep-set fears dead-set on vengeance
we let the years pass we still remember we still recover we still rebuild
we still rise
from what is clear but to where?
please let us be wise
Written quite a few years ago reflecting on the terrible, world-shaking events of 9/11.
Three years old He sat slumped on the floor grabbing at the colorful wooden blocks beside him He built his own teeter-tottering tower until it was taller than him His proud self beamed up at you "Look! Look what I made." You smiled that pitiful smile that he would soon understand "That's wonderful! But it's time to clean up the blocks now." You disassembled his hard work and he watched you with his small, sad eyes
Ten years old He had upgraded to Legos building extraordinary castles from the clouds of his young imagination "Look! Do you like it?" He smiled small and shy You glanced up from your pile of papers "Yes...very nice, but don't you think you're getting a little old for things like that?" His eyes shifted down to the ground towards his creation "I guess" This time he took his own towers down
Seventeen years old he was far done with building blocks but he found some joy with paints and paper he shuffled over to where you sat "I know you are probably busy, but do you want to maybe look at what I made?" Your eyes barely moved from the laptop in front of you "My teacher said I should consider an art major... they told me I'm talented." You sighed "We've been over this. You said you were going to school for business." He refused to let his woes bubble over "Yeah... you're right."
Twenty four years old nine to five sitting in an office watching the sparks leave his soul He picked up the phone "I couldn't be more proud." you gushed but little do you know He would have given anything to go back to three years old ten years old seventeen years old when he still used His Own building blocks
That the stories he'd create That the characters which he'd sow Together all at once Would so quickly grow in the minds of those Who would follow along and fellowship Together on this ever winding road?
For wherever there is rock and stone Or root and earth Be it on mountain tops or in the valleys below How his stories over and over again Will ever accumulate and flow Through the minds of many so and so's
Did he ever realize the significance of this though?
That I do not know. BUT I kinda started TFOTR just a moment ago. :p
When your senses are numb and yet it pains you so much still, like your lungs are being wring out of blood; like your spine is a tower of stacked-up bones, collapsing; and your words fail and your every desperate action is scarce and all you feel inside well up on your eyes, condensed in an oceanic, salty drop. When you are no one but a void, deluging tears; until your lap is a swamp of one part sorrow and ninety-nine parts nostalgia.
Tall are the Towers that stretch up like tree's, Covering their world in whatever they please. Made of ivory,marble,brick, and clay, In their own world they do as they say. One day they will fall and cave from below, It is there in their self-righteousness; they become their own foe.