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WTC
by Luca Dombré
When empires were falling down on the road
inside was crumbling down all the world,
deep in the stone cold hearts of those
gaping frozen by fiery clouds
dumbed by the uselessness of words
reeling numb through the city roar.
And the frightening sun pulsing insensible,
and the incredible town marching incredulous.
The numberless caught by the unflappable terror
of witnessing history uncoiling in spirals
and hellish eruptions of sickening powder.
A bellowing tidal wave announces
the upcoming age of divine pornography,
blasphemy sold as purifying redemption
in the name of a creed that ignores comprehension.
And the souls in a motion can not help standing still,
and the bodies in fear spin like balls in a wheel.
Wrapped in the timeless present of eternity
darkness and light seem no longer dividable,
filtered in forebodings of colourless tyrants
merged in the flooding of the funereal island.
And the scream of the fog in the eye of the dead,
and the sins of us all crystallized in the blank.