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navyblueret -> RE: Flight 93 memorial (the 911 plane crash in Pa) (4/3/2009 9:17:23 PM)
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I just remembered. I wrote a poem about flight 93, a few days or so, after the fateful day. FWIW, I offer it, as a tribute to the truth of that day, and not the subliminal poke in the eye, offered by the lay-out of the memorial. I offered to let Oprah use it, but she never responded, so I guess it wasn't good enough for her show. Oh, Well. Hope you guys enjoy the read:
Flight 93
By: A. W. Steinhour
You wake up in the morning, an ordinary Joe,
preparing for the routine, of a young man on the go.
Shower, shave, and brush the teeth, you pack your bag to leave,
tell your wife and kids goodbye, brush talcum from your sleeve.
The taxi ride is routine, to where you’ll go aloft,
the sun is lighting up the sky, and clouds are white and soft.
You feel the plane lift from the ground, and preflight jitters fade.
Great wife, kids, and job, you think, ‘I really have it made.’
Minutes into flight time, you get the fateful hijack news,
crazy people now control the fate of passengers and crew.
You think: ‘Because of history, they’ll fly somewhere else and land,
and what a story I’ll have tell, if nothing else gets out of hand.’
‘They’ll rant and rave excessively, and ransom they’ll demand,
or call for the release from jail somewhere, members of their band.’
Nervousness is soon replaced, with total abject fear,
when flight crew and the pilots, are pushed roughly to the rear.
The pilot says that something’s wrong, the plane a hijacker now will fly,
but if he doesn’t do it right, then everyone will die.
Your cell phone’s in your pocket, surprisingly it works,
so, you call you wife to tell her you’ve been hijacked by some jerks.
She tells you, with a deep concern, Twin Towers have been struck,
and then you know, beyond a doubt, you’ve all run out of luck.
The plane has over fifty souls, D.C. has thousands more,
so the choice is simply who must die, from this heinous act of war.
You tell your wife you love her, but you have a job to do,
your going to take the airplane back, and subdue those crazy few.
You tell her that you may not live, for something may go wrong,
because, these people don’t want money, they want to kill our freedom song.
The last words that your wife will hear brands freedoms corporate soul,
the battle cry, no better said, than when you said: ‘Let’s Roll.’
A spectator you no longer are, your hearts hear drum and fife,
as something must be done, and quick, to save more innocent life.
Into freedoms history, and shirking not, you charge,
Bad guy lose, good guys win, but the price was very large.
You all brought us together, that very fateful day,
the standard raised for “Patriot,” you few set high that day.
Rest well, you friends of country, God bless, and keep you well;
for the 9-11 killers: Spend your eternity in hell.
(Anyone wishing to send these words on to friends and family, at no profit, has my permission to do so. Any usage, for profit, must be specifically cleared through the author.//as//)
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