John F. McCullagh
Twin Towers in the Clouds
They rose above the Clouds
as my charter passed downtown.
An April day dawning,
thirty thousand feet from ground.
It was as if they, alone, had been spared
And all New York was gone.
The future was quite different,
Something I could not have known.
Two other planes approaching
on a clear September morn.
changed utterly, the world;
Twin Towers, smoking, gone.
The death of one or several men
Might barely give us pause,
but as we read two thousand names
We’re still fighting two wars.
Peace continues to elude us
No matter whom we catch or kill.
Sometimes, in dreams, I think I see
the towers standing still.
But in the cold grey light of morning
I know I never will.
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