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| Author: | Larry Larry |
| E-mail: | not available |
| Date: | 9/10/2006 3:57:15 PM |
| Subject: | Old 9/11 poem |
| Message: | Not that great of a poem but I wrote it a few days after the fall of the twin towers five years ago. Many of you have already seen it. It's just a dirty broken old phone. In the streets of New York, there all alone. Next to a mountain of concrete and steel. A few days have passed but it still seems unreal. My mind replays, the brutal attack. Start walking away but I turn and look back. At that dirty broke phone, there on the ground. There's screams of joy, a survivor is found. The phones' only job, to send and receive. Back and forth it's messages weave. Hundreds, no, thousands must pass through each day. If this phone could speak, what would it say? Might tell of transactions involving big money. Retell some jokes both stupid and funny. Maybe of "fast food" orders to go. Or checking the times of a new picture show. Greetings sent for an old aunts birthday. Or a talk with a mom with nothing to say. A dad's "Baby Girl" that just had to call. To let him know, she's another inch tall. Could be the plans of a pretty young girl. Whose upcoming marriage is her only world. Or maybe "Hey Pops, your're going to be glad. Nine months from now you'll be a grand dad." Maybe harsh words between husband and wife. That one will regret for the rest of their life. Could be some things that should have been said. Now never will be, 'cause the phone line is dead. I pray the last message, as I survey the sky. Is one that says " I love you. Good bye" It's just a broken, dirty, old, phone. I pick it up, I'm taking it home. Larry Moore 9/15/2001 HERE'S TO TOMORROW HERE'S TO TODAY HERE'S TO WHATEVER I NEVER DID SAY..... Mickey Newbury. |
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Old 9/11 poem by Larry Larry at 9/10/2006 3:57:15 PM |
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