[Spindleshanks]

Originally Posted by Maryann Corbett

Here's another entry:

9/11 Revisited.
Written on the occasion of the award-winning Naudet documentary, 2002

I've just escaped the rage of dust that filled the City's heart.
I've watched the silver arrow thrust within and tear apart
the centre of a universe. I've seen the flames and smoke.
I've heard the city's cry and curse before the sudden choke
of silence as the disbelief held momentary sway;
I've shuddered as the tide of grief swept disbelief away.

I've cried with every witness as the second missile hit.
I've shared their helpless sickness as the towers began to spit
through gaping maws the living dead, and retched at every thud;
I've withered as the tears they shed unchecked became a flood.
I've climbed with heroes as each floor was gained by guts and drive;
I've heard the wounded giants roar, beheld their final dive.
I've known the wretched weight of guilt the stunned survivors bore;
I've felt my spirits sag and wilt with theirs—then rise before
the "save and rescue" creed. Beneath the rubble mountain lay
their buddies and their fellows. Grief must wait another day.

I've seen the evil that men do and witnessed trust's demise;
I've been and seen and felt it through the camera's faithful eyes;
and though the screen has darkened now on gallantry and shame,
I know my carefree life somehow will never be the same.

There was a welter of this type of poetry after the event, which was understandable; it was a watershed event that triggered an outpouring of rage and grief, the very stuff of poetry. Whether its outpouring has stood the test of time and emotional distance is the question.
L11, the forced promotion of "as" unsettles the metre. Otherwise, technically okay.

Peter