SILVER BEACONS OF COMMERCE AND HOPE,
THE TWINS STOOD TALL, SYMBOLS OF WHAT COULD.
APPROACHING THEIR REFLECTED LIGHT I STRODE
AS ALWAYS
CARELESSLY, INNOCENTLY.
AND THEN THE SOUND, A HEAVY LOW THUD FROM ON HIGH.
WINDOWS IMPLODE, GLASS DOMINOS
A DIRTY BLACK PLUME OF SMOKE
THE WHIRLWIND FIREBALL
ITS GHASTLY PROJECTILES
I GAPE IN HORRIFIC DISBELIEF
AS THE SCREEN DISASTERS WE SO EMBRACE
BECOME REALITY WHEN THE MIXED BLESSING OF OPEN BORDERS
COLLIDES WITH A CLOSED SOCIETY
A SKYLINE EXTINGUISHED
BUT WITH IT NOT THE DREAM,
THE IDEA THAT IS AMERICA.
ENDURE WITH ME THE ALTERED FUTURE
FULL OF DREAD AND HOPE
AND RESOLVE.
OUR FLAG IS STILL THERE