Looking at this page for doing a journalism project (I'm doing it on 20/20's 9/11 memorial), I came across this website. I know it's a little late, but I remember 9/11 and my thoughts and prayers go out to all those affected by it. An alum from my school was killed in the tragedy, as were many others I don't know on my half birthday (9/11), and I hope that we can still overcome this and never forget.
I wrote a poem about 9/11 a month back for an English project:
Upon a Dark and Stormy Day
 
'Twas bright and sunny when day came.
People thought it would be the same.
The same routine, the same stuff done
'fore off to work or school or fun.
None thought the worst, some thought the best,
some thought the day'd be like the rest.
Alas! Alas! It was not so.
The norm and safeness had to go.
For in a city, large and grand,
all life and routine still did stand
when two planes, with both bad and good
smashed twin towers of livelihood.

Young I was, and did not know why
these towers fell, why people died.
The hidden truth I did not know
or why these towers had to go.
I heard a third plane crashed as well,
and what this meant I could not tell.
I, frightened, said that there'd be four,
three planes had crashed, there must be more.
We watched the TV, 'round a flag sang,
but no meaning in my head rang.

Years have past, I am older now.
I understand the why and how
who had done this, reasons they had,
the resulting war, its good and bad.
I understand that everyday
people there ultimately pay
the greatest love, the greatest cost,
and for us their lives have been lost,
so we can be free all our years
without worry and shedding tears.
To think all of this was begun
by people who thought that they'd won.

But let us prove these people wrong,
and show them all that we are strong.
We fight till terror is no more,
and is banished from every shore,
and so that day the towers fell,
never from our minds is expelled.
Those that died will not be forgot,
why they died, why the war is fought:
For freedom and for liberty,
for those who are and who will be.

Thank you, Chris
 
"The Spirit of America"

With a fierce and brutal terrorist act,
So many innocent people would die.
With no hearts untouched by tragedy,
We heard a Nation cry.
America's peace was shattered,
When the high jacked planes would crash,
Our sense of security and freedom,
Seemed to crumble in the ash.
But the Spirit of America,
Rose up through the rubble,
As the citizens of this great Nation,
Rallied in the face of trouble.
For somewhere in our sadness,
From this brutal act of war,
A light shines in the darkness,
Revealing patriots to the core.
United in our sorrow,
As we bow our heads to pray.
God bless the grieving masses,
God bless the USA.
In our sweet land of Liberty,
Home of the Free and the Brave,
Through adversity and sorrow,
The American flag shall wave.
And our enemy will quake with fear,
For we will ride roughshod,
To defend our countries honor,
One Nation Under God.
In all hearts across America,
The vision of freedom empowers,
We'll stand our ground in unity,
And victory, will be ours!
 
Chris Woolnough

erikbernstein.com/music.html

The Eleventh of September: In Memory of Our Heroes (Orchestration Version) (mp3)

The Eleventh of September: In Memory of Our Heroes (Acoustic Version) (mp3)

The Eleventh Of September: In Memory Of Our Heroes (Lyrics)

Erik@ErikBernstein.com

The music: erikbernstein.com/music.html

To the 403 families of the policemen, firemen and Port Authority workers who lost their loved ones on September 11, 2001.

9/11/02 - Oldest Memories From Before



Wake up hon, its time to rise, today’s a special day,
Mom needs help to look our best, there’s much I’d like to say.
Let’s get washed and brush your hair, you’ll shine among the crowd,
The dress fits fine, and you look great, your father would be proud.
I wish I could explain it hon, its not the way we planned,
For now, just watch and listen, someday you’ll understand. 
Now go down the stairs, the car awaits, Mom needs a moment’s time,
It hurts so much; I can’t let on, oh the horror of this crime.

The Driver waits at walkway’s end, the door open in his hand,
His uniform is cold and dark, yet his eyes are warm and grand.
She hesitates at first, at her first of many rides,
Reassuring eyes prevail, across the seat she slides.
He stands there still, his role defined, the future preordained, 
Mom appears and hugs him close, their heritage retained.		
The door is closed; he climbs in front, Mom glances toward the sun,
He looks back first and smiles strong, their journey now begun.

They pass their tree-lined neighborhood, where neighbors watch like trees,
Mom looks through another world, where leaves float in the breeze. 
Shadows grow and darkness swells, buildings taller with each mile,
The Driver watching in his mirror and, the mirror hides his smile.
Sitting next to Mother close, she sees Mother far away,
Something wrong the others see, refusing to look away. 
No words are spoken, silence rules, there are no words to say,
She recalls what Mom has said, just watch and learn this day.
 
Other cars arrive in line, with others close behind,
Other drivers drive the line, with all an equal kind. 
Gentle shepherds tend their flock, and begin to blaze a trail,
Through a sea so blue and dark, with steps so small and frail.
Hand upon her shoulder, the Driver parts the sea, 
To an unknown destination, his hand a solemn plea:
Follow me and trust me and I’ll guide you through this maze,
You will come to comprehend, and I promise better days.
And she took him at his word, as she took the seat beside him, 
As the speakers spoke their names, and an image formed within,

The seasons change and change again, despite the steady course, 
The years a patient witness, themselves a guiding force.
Many times her mother tried, to explain their time and space,
The Driver never tried at all, but simply held his place.
But the picture came together when she found one winter day, 
The photos old and tattered, of men older than today.
Their bodies bent and battered, their faces ashen gray,
Their place amongst the rubble, their church where they would pray,
Here she learned her father’s fate, lost for her to see,
Climbing up against the tide, and swallowed by the sea. 
And in ceremonies to come, a picture so engrained,
Of uniforms clean and neat, where the stain of loss remained.
 
They were always there it seemed, the fabric of her youth,
Grounding her in early days, a reminder of the truth.
Their small apartment always full, of men with different names,
Holidays and weekends, and all her high school games.
A goliath in the goal, they found life amidst her play,
And she found play amidst their lives, her uncles old and gray.
Yet their presence felt the most with her mother so revered,
The care which they extended, the hopes which they endeared,
Allowing her to laugh out loud, and listening when she cried,
He would have done the same for them, for his brothers’ brides.

The kitchen sink is filled with clouds, dishes hidden from her view,
Precision steps belie this fact, as blindness seeks anew. 
The window glass her viewer, and in the corner of her eye,
The solitary figure moves, beneath the autumn sky.
A carpenter’s coat to keep him warm, a rake to keep his yard, 
Leaves line up in nice neat rows, none get past his guard.
Steady strokes of non-stop work, satisfaction with his chore,
He looks up quick, as if on cue, eyes meet as before.
A friendly wink, a gentle wave, from this uncle old,
Hands still wet, she smiles sweet, a moment he will hold.
No words are spoken, silence rules, there are no words to say,
Our friend resumes the task at hand, paid in full this day.

The Driver past away last fall, asleep in his easy chair,
Watching his beloved Yanks, battle in the cold night air.
Climbing back from seven down, they fought to own the day,
He left the game before they won- going away.
They heard the news together, and her mother lost her hold,
While her child held her loss, and resolved to fill their mold.
And they said good-bye together, in another line so long, 
With her hand upon his shoulder, as she sadly smiled strong.

Wake up hon, its time to rise, today’s a special day,
Mom needs help to look our best, now you know all that I could say.
Let’s get washed and brush your hair, you’ll shine among the crowd,
You’ve grown so well and look so fine, your father would be proud.
No explanations needed, it all worked out as planned,
You did all that we could ask, and now you understand. 
Now go down the stairs, the car awaits, Mom needs a moment’s time,
Thank you God, your faith in us has stood the test of time


The sun climbs over bleacher steps, the field fully in its view,
The ceremony soon to start, the seats arranged like pews.
Uncles enter laughing, as they banter while they climb,
The moment they’ve awaited, faces cleansed for all of time.
They encircle Holy Mother, as they continue to the skies,
Her happiness unbridled, no tears are in her eyes. 
And the Driver softly watches, hidden from their view,
With the biggest smile of all, if he could be there too.

The sun warms the field the morning of this day,
Music plays and people laugh, she has so much to say. 
Graduation- already past, Future- already in her hand,
Her heritage insightful, prepared to make her stand.
All along, her path she’s known, a writer she will be,
In part because she writes so well, but more because she sees:
Your image dim, my memory thin, your voice I strain to hear,
And even though I can’t recall, I’m like you Father dear.
With eyes that know, she returns back now, from oldest memories from before,
The day she stood and watched and witnessed, as the world stood still once more.



			         Richard L. Piccolo
			         January 1, 2002
			         rpiccolo@livevault.com
			         (508) 460-6670 x103