Month / Day: Nine / Eleven… Year: Twenty – Naught – One,
We all lost, sense of safety, our Days Halcyon.
Despite fifteen laps, which we’ve jogged ‘round our Sun,
Still nowhere to hide. Still nowhere to run.
Be it al Qaeda or ISIS, or lone wolves, homespun,
Be it suicide bomber or crazed sniper’s gun.
Each insurgent’s first goal is to shock, awe and stun,
Their surprise element can’t be thwarted, undone.
The stick figure dispassionate, bare boned skeleton,
Once gutted of values, compassion they’ll shun.
The body count mounts, victims’ souls jettison,
Perhaps peace exists ONLY in O-blivion?
War on terror is futile, no truce can be won,
Each tactician in dispute is a simpleton.
Just whom do troops conquer? Zip, zero none!
Can we rise from the FALL of ol’ Twenty – Naught – One?