Still, Still Copyright © Richard J Whiting 2011

Gathered around a shop-front,
As if all we need
Is a cover-drive
To claim the Ashes,
Nameless heads stare,
Faces like split charcoal,
Snake-eyed, cavern-mouthed;
The awestruck.

September two-thousand and one.
No poetry required.
An image seared onto minds
Like numbers on the arms of
Prisoners of War.
A new century wearing
The shape of its predecessor
Like a pair of old jack-boots.

Jew, Muslim, Christian, Agnostic;
Sentenced to death
Without trial
In an act of twisted diversity;
Towers of stone, of strength
Slip from the skyline
As rubble gathers
Both boulder and bone.

America screamed;
The Big Apple shaken to the core,
The City that never sleeps
Gripped by nightmare;
The World, spinning uncertainly
On its axis,
Sang songs of sympathy
To a chorus of revenge.

Now be still, and remember, today;
Those still choking on the dust,
Those with names freshly carved,
Those innocents caught in the crossfire
Of blood, for blood.

Be still, still…

Is it really ten years since this happened?
Or a decade
Since it began?