When people die
this way, taken 
from on high,
there will always
be someone who says,
do not speak

of how it happened
until we have wiped up
the blood and after
all the wounds are
bound and healed
or buried.

I confess,
I have been that person,
and in some ways I still am.
I cannot speak of
missile planes
and falling buildings
to this day.  I do not know
if I can be or ever will be
that person who can
argue or imply, 
speak truth or falsify,
dig snarling into another
over how and why —

but if you can, try.
If you can by such talk
somehow prevent
me and mine
and countless others
from standing
bloody and mute
among the dead, if you
can with all this chatter
open new doors and close
old ones, try.
I fail when I try.
I fail when I look
into a victim’s eyes — 

but out beyond the pain
of the moment, or perhaps
within the moment,

someone must try.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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