Battered, flooded, toppled, windblown

Marooned, dusted, drenched,

Abandoned, deserted, voiceless, stunned.

(Getty Images)

A world for a moment still.

Then rise, limping, bleeding,

Eyes filled with dust, standing uncertain on shifting earth —


Where are the mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers?

Is that light?  A voice?


Hardhats, plastic buckets, hands held skyward.

Blankets, make-shift beds, hands in prayer,

A million water bottles scattered.

We have stood on these piles before,

The places we have fallen.

Oklahoma City, trade centers, Mosul, Miami, New Orleans, Washington.

Houston, Rockport, Detroit, Montgomery, Paris, London, Madrid, Mexico City.


What we build will fall.

Lessons in the rubble, flashing floods, the muddy destruction.


There might be a cry, a whimper, a tapping.


What we do to hate is crushed.

What we do for love rises.

About michaelstephendaigle

I have been writing most of my life. I have written at least three complete novels, have three others started and on my website is the draft chapter of the latest effort,"The Swamps of Jersey."
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