The rubble that remains
Leave a commentSeptember 11 by The Running Son
The rubble that remains
Where great legs
once stood as sentinals
proclaiming dominance from land to space,
an annual itch
haunts that amputated place,
our graceland vacated,
replaced by the tang
of a blue phantom stasis,
broken only by the clang of man
grating against man,
echos that ring and remain
despite the reparative
and magnanimous brotherly scratch
of atlas hands working latches
through the dust
and rubble
that seperates lands.
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