About five years ago, around the fifth anniversary of 9/11, I was feeling frustrated, powerless and angry. I was not sure about the war and the number of people still dying over in a land I can only imagine. I was feeling duped and mistrustful of a leader who either lied or had been misled himself. Needing somewhere, some way to channel all that negative energy and being too old to join the fight, I sat down late one night and tried to express it all with words. The result follows. I'm no Wordsworth or Frost but it helped me then. And now, on the tenth anniversary, and with Bin Laden dead, the war continues, young people are still dying and I felt the need to share... A rare occurence with my poetry.
This Hole in the Ground...
This hole in the ground was not my home,
Not even where I worked.
I knew no one who died that day,
Nor anyone who was hurt.
The loss I feel can't be explained
By personal connection,
More like a piece out of a whole
a part of a collection.
To me New York is just a place
In movies and TV,
a place for FRIENDS and CSI,
Or to watch the Yanks get beat.
My home is so much farther south,
I speak another language.
My slow, southern drawl confuses those
Who live around the Village.
This hole in the ground is not my home,
Nor ever shall it be.
But it's just over yonder from where I live,
And I take it personally.
Just like a child whose sibling's a brat,
And all they do is fuss,
But let an outsider start trouble with one,
And he takes on all of us.
- - - - - - - - - - -
©2006 Ron W Hamilton
All Rights Reserved
* ~ NEVER FORGET! ~ *
No comments:
Post a Comment