The Eleventh of September Two Thousand and One

[Jimmy O'Connell]

The Eleventh of September Two Thousand and One

Have you forgotten the dirge keening
across the acrid landscape of your heart,
forgotten how the paleness of your grief
has transformed you into a knot of hate
gnawing at the bone of your anger?

What will you destroy from the aeons our
common humanity has woven but the
fabric of knitted sinews bound in the
fiery cauldron love has dictated
to be the imperative of our
survival. Weep not for the loss

of hopes imagined, the oblivion of
dreams frustrated; rather wail your anger
into the pit where hearts refuse to mourn.

[Christopher T. George]

Hi Jimmy

For me the best part of the poem is in the ending statement, here retitled:

Weep not for the loss

of hopes imagined, the oblivion of
dreams frustrated; rather wail your anger
into the pit where hearts refuse to mourn.

--- I find this to be a fine and noble statement.

Chris

[Byron]

I agree. Three lines that stand out and also stand on their own.