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Jason Christopher Hackwith
September 11th, 2001
"The dove descending breaks the air
with flame of incandescent terror"
~T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding
The last dove's flight into the world
Was brutally ended, wings ripped from her back,
Thrown to the ground to spite her children.
As we watched, numb, stricken with grief,
Wringing our weeping hands,
The best of us tried in vain to save her;
The worst of us turned away.
She had but arisen, just launched from her nest.
Her abandoned chicks, unable to rear themselves,
Wait patiently for her to return. No more.
And the world, this world that once was free --
Or was it ever? -- reels, staggers drunkenly,
Soaked with blood. The blood cries out for her;
And I fear, I fear, oh how I fear
She will not fly again.
(c) 2001 by jch
Permission is hereby granted to freely print, distribute, & perform this piece wherever deemed appropriate, as long as the title, author, and copyright notices remain fully intact and unchanged.