Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven.
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait.
A bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying, “Lets sit, lets chat.”
They settle down in seats of clouds,
A man named Martin shouts out proud,
“I have a dream!” and once he did
The Newcomer said, “Your dream still lives.”
Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
“We’re from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine”
The Newcomer said, “You died not in vain.”
From a man on sticks one could hear
“The only thing we have to fear.
The Newcomer said, “We know the rest,
trust us sir, we’ve passed that test.”
“Courage doesn’t hide in caves
You can’t bury freedom, in a grave,”
The Newcomers had heard this voice before
A distinct Yankees twang from Hyannisport shores.
A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day.
“Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons
We smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought
Unlike you, great we’re not”
The tall man in the stovepipe hat
Stood and said, “Don’t talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see
You died for freedom, just like me”
Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, smoke and dust
And people working just ’cause they must
Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone
“Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman
Side by side helping their fellow man!”
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
“Even from nightmares, can be born a dream.”
Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in ’44
The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
“I see pain, I see 20 tears,
I see sorrow – but I don’t see fear.”
“You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You’re not really gone.
All of those people, even those who’ve never met you
All of their lives, they’ll never forget you
Don’t you see what has happened?
Don’t you see what you’ve done?
You’ve brought them together as one.”
With that the man in the stovepipe hat said
“Take my hand,” and from there he led
five thousand plus heroes, Newcomers to heaven
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven.
I wrote this poem about 9/11/2001 (as you can see in the title) for a few reasons.
1) During my Sophomore year in high school in 2006, we got to the section of our books where we talk about 9/11 and amazingly quite a few people in my class were joking about that day and said that it doesn’t matter anymore since its been 5 years and we still havent found Osama. Even today, eight years later, it still matters. People gave their lives for us that day on flight 93, and our friends and family died in those towers and at the Pentagon. For those of you who may not think it matters anymore, I’d like you to read this poem and remember. You don’t have to believe it still matters, but in not believing your just leaving those people that died with one less person remebering why they died. FOR OUR FREEDOM!
2) In 2006, I watched a documentary on tv about 9/11 and even though it had been 5 years it still made me quiver/shiver to see it and think of the families that went through and continue to live with that pain. Like one of my friends that had a uncle working in the towers.
That is why I wrote this. I hope this gets those of you who don’t remember what happened that day to remember. Remember why we’re fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan right now. Remember those heros. The heros of 9/11.