A September Eleven Salute


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  • Photo: Rebecca Wilson, via flickr



First anniversary, honorable visit,

recall fire-fighters,

patriots all.

In terrorist’s terror,

evil in thrust,

stabs of agony.

In dusts of disaster,

in shards of debris,

screams, announcing catastrophe.

The nation grieves,

rivers, streams of tears,

heroic, the survivors.

Collective grief proved her best,

this crisis time.

Freedom is not free.

On hallowed ground, ghosts abound,

‘round this day of infamy.

Freedom is not free.

Crash site, hallowed ground,

resounds, the terror unleashed

that recalled, fatal day.

A somber city sobs a cry,

“Heal we must and heal we will,

take comfort in our history.”

The wound is raw, the sorrow true,

hurt beyond despair,

like nightmares in a dream.

The hurt remains, embrace the pain,

the hallowed ground moans, still,

Freedom is not free.

Brotherhood, goodwill demands,

a chain of loving helpful hands.

Freedom is not free.

We rise, stronger in our worth,

Glow, “Bright light of liberty.”

Freedom is not free.

John Peters, an artist, orator and poet, is 90 years old and a resident of Westbeth artist housing.


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