Lessons learned from 9/11 terrorist attacks? What is it that the wail of our voice has given us in the stamp of days lurching forward on the damp streets, eyes upon our feet, omitting the faces reflected in this glass grown in our hands and thickened skies over the oceans clot of war’s nectar, man’s squander, while mountains give way to unconscious machines, voices, wooden with a thick green-love? What is it that the wail of our voice has given us that the march of a grassless plain or an iceless crest cannot sign, we gauge their descent like a killer, set to be forgiven sins we’ll soon commit, as pointed fingers wag at the surging breach leaning its majesty over the dampened sun. © 2010 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)