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Satan's Purchase
by Kimberly Angelone (Age: 38)
copyright 09-06-2006


Age Rating: 13 to 127

  Satan's Purchase
Picture Credits:

A funeral procession, a gloomy, wretched day,
Heads hung in mourning, as all to rest, we lay.

Buried in black, pink, red, blue, yellow, white,
Friends and family in agony, because it will never "be alright."

One mother wants answers, “but why did he have to choose you??”
As she places one red rose over her daughter’s gown of blue.

Her father is so lost, his daughter of twenty-seven,
Was murdered by animals, and then taken up to Heaven.

Her friends wear black, as they leisurely walk on by,
Leaving pretty carnations, along with the tears that they cry.

The thick gray headstone, and so it be read,
“Our daughter, forever, we lay her to bed.”

They walk away, weeping, no absolution to be found,
Was she blown to pieces? Did she jump? Is she somewhere underground?

Years will go by, a few, maybe ten,
Family will visit, asking how they’ve all been.

More time will go by, and a stranger will query,
"Now, who was that girl, again? So young, it was eerie.”

Choking on bottled emotions that continue to rage,
We are trapped inside of a morbid war-zone cage.

Barbaric death forced, in an unnatural way,
And the frustrating part? We can't make them pay.

Survivors come to visit, marching quietly on by,
Remembering what they saw, that unimaginable day in the sky.

They kneel at her grave, but they just cannot weep,
At all of the memories they so painstakingly keep.

The smell of burning flesh, bodies hitting the ground,
No human should ever have to endure, such sights, smells or sound.

All cried out, they now look to tomorrow,
Basking in their thankfulness, not in their sorrow.

Grateful for their strength, they take a moment just to ponder,
The police, the dogs, the firemen, their heros, with great, great honor.

Arm in arm smiling, they all sit down in the sun,
Making new memories, for what’s done I’m afraid, is done.

They accept whatever life delivers, so content just to be alive,
No matter what their future hands them now, they were still the ones to survive.

The date of September Eleventh, will be remembered all too well,
As the day that Satan purchased, four one-way tickets from hell.



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Comments on this Article/Poem:
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04-12-2008 Walter Jones    

A writers gift is special as it shares soul and heart in a view only they own, emotion and truth explode, you have taken my mind, and my heart and given each a taste of what a great writer is, thank you.. Walt


02-29-2008 Eric Gasparich    

Being a native of the area you must have had a front row seat.

When one watches a tragedy unfold, in this case, a very willful tragedy, there are, nonetheless, choices to be made. The thing I always choose to dwell on about 9-11 is not what happened in New York, or at the Pentagon, but what didn't happen in Washington, because it happened instead in a field in Pennsylvania.

The Passengers of Flight 93 took exactly an hour and a half to defeat a strategy that depended on the way people had been taught to react to a hijacking. People had been taught to wait it out, and everything will be okay. That was rendered obsolete the minute the first plane hit, and the passengers of the last flight found out and acted. Theirs was a grim choice, not between life or death, but between two deaths. Nonetheless, the better death was chosen, and in its own way, it really was a choice for life, or at least the refusal to give up life without making the best possible effort to hold on to it.

In this, the passengers of Flight 93 apparently saved the Capitol Building, and the US Congress. I'm ambivalent about the last part, but the building (as the symbol of self-governance, and a repository of much history) was certainly worth saving. ;)


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