A Memorial 

The Aftermath of New York: A Simple Poem

(Thought of at the National September Eleventh Memorial, 6/11/17)

I was asleep in my cradle

safe, sound, untouched 

miles and miles away from a newly acquired knife in a nation's heart 

when I should have been wide awake

should have let the fear strike me and leave its battle wounds 

as it set into the jaws of millions 

when the gasoline gushed into the office space

and they realized their lives weren't theirs to make or break 

illuminating a man's face 

with sunken eyes on the 101st floor 

asking, "Where is God when I have to jump?"

and I know he thought 

how he wished he could grow wings 

like the jet planes that landed at his feet 

like he was living a little boy's dream 

but he didn't wake up before it turned into a nightmare 

and how he wished he could land without feeling any pain 

but sometimes the world doesn't work that way 

so he tipped himself over the edge 

hoping someone would catch his last words 

with a prayer to his family 

before he fell




and shattered in a sea of red and rubble 

making a fireman's stomach churn 

and President Washington turn over in his grave 

so now I stand 

where thousands had wished to brush off their shoulders and walk away

or maybe even go back up to save the day 

and I watch a leaf fall




silently to the water 

and a passerby flip in a coin 

because it's easier than offering a shoulder to cry on 

but I'm old enough now for my own jaw to set

and I don't have the heart to scream out that gold doesn't dry tears 

nor does it wash away a sea of red 

or dab up spilled gasoline 

or mend the beams of the 101st floor 

or give a desperate man his very own wings 

because where is God when we have to jump? 


A Simple Poem 

The Aftermath of New York: A Simple Poem

To know 

that when I look into his eyes 

I will see no monsters lurking in the depths 

that wish to turn my veins to ice

but instead a sea of morning light

with a warm “welcome home” sign the color of autumn leaves 

means more to me than I could ever describe in this jumbled poem.

To know his hands  

will always be careful

not to tamper with the thin fabric of my heart 

that has been torn like the “take one” papers at the corner store

or unlock the diaries in my mind without permission

that hold words such as these  

but filled more so with ink stains 

that haunt me while I sleep 

means more to me than I could ever jot down on this paper.

To know that when he holds me close

his heart beats steadily for the art of love

 to tame the monsters of the dark

to sew the fabric of my heart

to hold his breath 

or even watch his step 

to ensure that I sleep soundly  

means more to me

than just a simple poem. 

-Peace to the Piano Prince.

Originally Written: 3/27/17
Revised: 7/6/17

Run Like the Water 

The Aftermath of New York: A Simple Poem


Run like the water in the stream.

Seep through the pores of the earth, and find its darkest secrets,

But don’t run away from me.

Trust in me. 

Trust me like the waterbird trusts the tide. 

I will not let you fall beneath the waves when we set out to sea, 

But don’t float away from me.

Water will wash us clean of troubles, of fear, of insecurities. 

It will rinse our eyes free of tears after late night calls that distance miles apart, 

Or cool our boiling blood when the world will not listen to the peace we sing. 

Water will carry us through the trials of time.

Our love will be forever preserved in the crystal glaciers of the north, 

Or in the bellies of parched children on another shore.

Let it forever live on.
Without doubt,
Without drought.

Love me. 
You are my source of life.