“Remembering 9/11” by Justin Moore
red and raw
remain wounds
to the psyche
new hate
was invented
in the dust
and debris
of a morning
blue treason
of skies carried
deathliness
fooling the light
of a new risen sun
turning sweet
serene air into
maelstroms of
violent heresy
innocence buried
forever beneath
endless layers of
morbid gray ash
and no morning
no sense of a
civil safe haven
would ever again
be the same
I was broken that day
on the anvil of anguish
I clamor for vengeance
the scream in my soul
undiminished by time
there can be no just
reckoning short of
employing unhesitant
means to obliterate evil
I know I am broken
so spare me the sermons
for broken I’ll be
till I’m laid in my grave
