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Remembering 9/11

I can't cry hard enough

(Performed by Victoria Williams
Written by David Williams & Marvin Etzioni)

I'm going to live my life
Like every day's my last
Without a simple goodbye
It all goes by so fast

And now that you're gone
I can't cry hard enough
No I can't cry hard enough
For you to hear me now

I'm going to open my eyes
And see for the first time
I've let go of you like
A child letting go of his kite

There it goes up in the sky
There it goes beyond the clouds
For no reason why
I can't cry hard enough
No I can't cry hard enough

For you to hear me now
I'm going to look back in vain
And see you standing there
When all that remains
Is just an empty chair

And now that you're gone
I can't cry hard enough
No I can't cry hard enough
For you to hear me now

The tribute below is dedicated to the Victims of September 11, 2001
and was designed by Jason Powers. You can read why
he felt compelled to do 'something' here:
 

http://www.weshallneverforget.org/JasonPowers.htm

Please note: To work properly this video requires Flash.
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The 2,993 confirmed victims of September 11th 2001 included innocent victims from 87 countries.

The youngest victim was 2 year old Christie Hanson - The oldest victim was 85 year old Robert Grant Norton.

3,251 children lost a Parent on that day...

All the innocent victims were just...
going to work ...at work ...travelling to see friends & family...
...going on vacation ... or trying to protect lives & property ...

TWO THOUSAND ONE, NINE ELEVEN
(2001-9-11)

Two thousand one, nine eleven
Three thousand plus arrive in heaven
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait
A bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying, "Lets sit, lets chat"

They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
"I have a dream!" and once he did
The Newcomer said, "Your dream still lives."

Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
"We're from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine"
The Newcomer said, "You died not in vain."

From a man on sticks one could hear
"The only thing we have to fear.
The Newcomer said, "We know the rest,
trust us sir, we've passed that test."

"Courage doesn't hide in caves
You can't bury freedom, in a grave,"
The Newcomers had heard this voice before
A distinct Yankees twang from Hyannisport shores

A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day

"Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons
We smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought
Unlike you, great we're not"

The tall man in the stovepipe hat
Stood and said, "Don't talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see
You died for freedom, just like me"

Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, smoke and dust
And people working just 'cause they must

Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone
"Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman
Side by side helping their fellow man!"

So said Martin, as he watched the scene
"Even from nightmares, can be born a dream."

Down below three firemen raised
The colours high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in '44

The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
"I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow -- but I don't see fear."

"You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You're not really gone.

All of those people, even those who've never met you
All of their lives, they'll never forget you
Don't you see what has happened?
Don't you see what you've done?
You've brought them together, together as one.

With that the man in the stovepipe hat said
"Take my hand," and from there he led
three thousand plus heroes, Newcomers to heaven
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven.


Copyright  © Paul Spreadbury


Paul says,

"I wrote this three days after the attack in response to my daughter's question regarding what, if any, value was derived from the death of all those people. I have had some folks with degrees in English, published writers and others write back with compliments and editorial suggestions. All are welcome and appreciated. I didn't write it for any reason other than to express my own personal feelings and I posted it in hopes that children (especially those most directly effected) would get some sense that ALL life has value and ALL life contributes to the continuation of the good".


Paul Spreadbury,
York Beach, Maine
Email: beesboy@earthlink.net

Also in memory of 'Lucky, Sherry, Bigsy & Simba'

Copyright © Norma Kearton 2000 - 2017