September 11

I cannot bear it –

the tears, the pain,

the weight of ruined lives

crumbling under the strain

of evil.


The earth grieves and groans

with the blood

that stains her soil,

with the hate

that shatters life; she toils

to hold the dead.


The universe stands silent

before the aching cries

of earth that echo

into space;

of darkness, grief

and hope that lies


the rubble.


A weeping God comes close;

with bleeding hands

he reaches down

to comfort, love and heal.

Oh, let not the walls

of hate keep out

the only hope that’s real.


Our mourning hearts

must rise above

the enemy’s dark scheme

and stand purer than the wickedness

that threatens to demean

us if of it we partake.


Rise, wounded land,

in God to trust,

and lead a holy fight

that marches on to conquer death

with humble might,

the fruit of faith.


Written in 2001, two days after the attack



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