I try on this day to keep a clear head within this insanity that numbs and undoes reason. Is that what has happened today, this day of waste? It seems fitting to call it that.
When in the space of these moments we call time, our life is so humiliatingly reduced to such a low level, where it seems every real poet’s words had never been heard, and when looked at again, seem meaningless and void.
So it is on this day, when bombs explode, where terror holds sway where beauty in another did …
When those buildings came down, with it went a part of us all. On earth we seem to know not the way, though many there are that point point to that way.
Frank J. Campis