September Eleven
By brentsrich
I did not know you Sitting alone Kitchen table A toaster that sparks Nor you Who shuddered With the sound of Hot water Rumbling through The pipes And you Whose only crime A daily one Extra pat of Butter For your roll What are your names Crushed now Beneath the weight Of hatred, fear What are your lives But echoes Glimpses Of mine Written September 18th, 2001 © on Sep 18 2001 01:53 PM PST, Rich Brents 0 • 1
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"I did not know you..."