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
Â
A SKYLINE EXTINGUISHED
BUT WITH IT NOT THE DREAM,
THE IDEA THAT IS AMERICA.
Â
ENDURE WITH ME THE ALTERED FUTURE
FULL OF DREAD AND HOPE
AND RESOLVE.
OUR FLAG IS STILL THERE