THE DAY THE CITY BURNED
There was no wind,
The day the city burned.
The fire turned inward
And ungulfed all living things.
I sat on a hill,
Not five miles away,
And watched the tower blocks
Sway with the heat.
You couldn't hear the roaring flames,
That whispered every victims name,
Or lit the sky at dusk,
Replacing the melted sun.
You couldn't see the people run,
Or hear them scream.
I have since, in dreams.
But the strangest part of it all,
Was that curious absence of wind.
- I wrote this poem when I was nineteen, after a strange dream where I was sitting on a hill watching a city burn in the valley below me - the dream ended with me driving away in a cream cadilac with John de Lancie tied up in the boot (ask I shrink, the hell if I know) but I find the piece eerie since 9/11 happened five years later.
