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Your Pain MAG
I wish today were yesterday.
Just unbelievable is all you say,
incredible,
words used to describe a Broadway show.
Oh, that's another bomb, you joked,
Wall Street men nervously laughed
like a sigh of relief.
Your neighboring friends couldn't say the same.
You still sit there today,
grave face etching your pain
that I wish I could understand.
And though last year I sat uncomforted
looking out the windowpane,
toward windy skies, toward military planes,
some of my pain dissipated.
Like the once-delicate blue clouded
with dusts of anonymous names and steel,
all our tears have washed it down.
Some have buried their fears in two years,
in the tears that water the scathed ground.
But your pain I will never know.
Television screens hid the scenes
that you saw with your own eyes,
wet with tears that will never
Drown the cloud of people in the sky.
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