I was young, just 17-years-old
Long in my deliberations, thinking
Here nor there. My mind rampent
With my body, with the other, her
Dear soprano, we felt love in hiding,
Yet, my voice rose in adoration of beauty,
First tenor, I could sing to high “C.”
Lord forgive me for years of waste,
But until I was 55-years-old, Sing
John Rutter praise the Lord. May
Light of presence, now, I believe,
Oh, my Jesus me Lord Almighty,
You’ve come to me as I turn 68,
On September 11th, another day
Of infamy, but for me tears here,
In our Home, on my birthday,
My good wife working then for our
Government, the VA lock-down
Messages we might be going
To war, who were these suicide
Jet bombers, killing three thousand,
Some leaping to avoid flames? Be
Ever with them Lord– even now
Oh, Jesus!, my tears drop hot liquid
For the Cross, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist
Holy fire, as I approach my birthday,
As I remember those 3,000 souls,
People with children, with families.
Husbands, Wives, People All sacraficed,
On my birthday, I saw the rolling smoke
Clouds engulf first respond, , ground
To dust to ash, where are they stood?
Oh, Lord? Take care of their children.
The innocents, the bystanders not even
In twin towers, not given chances, may
We all yet believe something good.
Forgive me Lord for I knew you not,
Have denied you once, then declared.
I cannot leave You, I give over to those
Those sacrificed in spite, hate, and nothingness.