echoes

The poem...
written by Cara Mumford on September 11, 2001.

Melancholy riffs
echo in my head,
so empty of all thought.
Instead—
such images of evil
and the din of fear,
death,
last breaths.

And I fancy that I see
the fabric of freedom
disintegrate,
like an ancient shroud,
into so much dust—
a broken trust—
on the streets of the city.

Dante had nothing on this.

The evil that man wreaks upon man
overwhelms me
as before,
as always.
And my cold soul
fills with loneliness.

There is no anger yet,
nor tears,
just despair and sorrow
to face the morrow.

So as this long day collapses into dark night,
the only solace that I find
is in the blues refrain
that echoes in my mind.