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