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Array ( [sid] => 11191 [catid] => 1 [aid] => Mick [title] => a perfect view [time] => 2003-01-25 08:30:00 [hometext] => [bodytext] => The sunrise hits the towers first of all,
The windows flashing fiery halos bright.
The husbands check their luggage, make a call
To wives who wonder if they made their flight.
Apartment lights are turned on one by one
As people search the floors for matching socks.
The city is awake, the day begun.
The sunrise hit the street at eight o’clock.

I can see the towers from my window,
They block out what would be a perfect view.
The clock on my desktop always runs slow.
It was a gift. It read eight forty-two.
I did not sit and stare at death that day,
With morbid curiosity transfix.
Then, as now, I turned my head away,
And stare at Jesus on his crucifix.

As innocents have died throughout the ages,
Without marker or spotlights in the sky,
Their tribute is in those whose sorrow rages.
No greater tribute than the tears we cry.
Once grief is spent, we begin the healing,
It’s surely what the dead want us to do.
Yet so sad and empty I’ll be feeling
When tears no longer spoil my perfect view.
[comments] => 2 [counter] => 199 [topic] => 8 [informant] => darkeyedman [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AmericanTragedy )

a perfect view

Contributed by darkeyedman on Saturday, 25th January 2003 @ 08:30:00 AM in AEST
Topic: AmericanTragedy

The sunrise hits the towers first of all,
The windows flashing fiery halos bright.
The husbands check their luggage, make a call
To wives who wonder if they made their flight.
Apartment lights are turned on one by one
As people search the floors for matching socks.
The city is awake, the day begun.
The sunrise hit the street at eight o’clock.

I can see the towers from my window,
They block out what would be a perfect view.
The clock on my desktop always runs slow.
It was a gift. It read eight forty-two.
I did not sit and stare at death that day,
With morbid curiosity transfix.
Then, as now, I turned my head away,
And stare at Jesus on his crucifix.

As innocents have died throughout the ages,
Without marker or spotlights in the sky,
Their tribute is in those whose sorrow rages.
No greater tribute than the tears we cry.
Once grief is spent, we begin the healing,
It’s surely what the dead want us to do.
Yet so sad and empty I’ll be feeling
When tears no longer spoil my perfect view.

Copyright Â© darkeyedman ... [ 2003-01-25 08:30:00]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: a perfect view (User Rating: 1 )
by Ilhar on Saturday, 25th January 2003 @ 05:28:03 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

excellent

Re: a perfect view (User Rating: 1 )
by DreamWeaver on Sunday, 26th January 2003 @ 05:16:56 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Brilliant poem.

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