Like Great trees in a storm,
Lives uprooted
People, Animals,
Devastated, Numb.
Walking in circles
Staring un-comprehending.
At footprints, Their own.
Of the Victims.
Least important, Possessions,
Things that can be replaced.
But the memories, the pictures, the letters, a lock of a baby’s hair.
From parents, children, loved ones,
Faces lost forever, Dim memories,
They diminish, fade away
Like the fire’s smoke.
Of those who Help.
Compassion , Yes, but tempered.
Distance is demanded for Objectivity, for Sanity.
Eyes that see – Too much.
The faces stoic, oft times sad.
Their actions, rehearsed, competent.
But in their hearts a joy, a relief,
Not their homes. Not their families.
Of the Future.
What remains?
Pain, Anger,
The will to survive - The will to pick up the pieces,
To go on.
But, no two hearts beat the same,
While one will lie in the ashes - Another,
Will Rise like the Phoenix.
It’s the way of things. Life, in all it’s complexity.
Bill Schatzabel December 22, 2008
