photo courtesy of youtube.com
In fair New York City where we lay our scene
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where civil blood makes hands unclean.
From forth the fatal horror
Comes our faithful foes
With their ignorance, they tried to overthrow
Doth even in their deaths, hatred still grows.
The fearful passage of two death mark’d planes
Into two towers, was not a shower of power,
But one of rage. This was not acting on the world’s stage.
This was all too real. And in rememberance it is hard to have
The feeling we feel. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace
Profaners of the human race! Will they not hear? What ho,
You men, you beasts! That quench the fire of your pernicious
Rage, with purple fountains flowing from your veins--
On the pain of torture, from those bloody hands. Throw
Your mistempered weapons to the ground. Hear not the hatred in
Your heart. You have twice disturb’d the quiet of our streets, And
Made New York and the world’s citizen’s fearful, but not weak. I am
An American. Hath not American hands, organs, dimensions,
Senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt by the same
Weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal’d by the same means you are?
If you pricks us do we not bleed? The Weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. To be or not to be that is the
Question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows
Of outrageous hatred, or to take arms against a sea of trouble. And by
Opposing them, end them.
Written With William Shakespeare
Note: This poem appears in my book The Poetry of Emotions which can be found here https://theladywrites.weebly.com/books.html. It will also be published in a book of history poems I am now working on.
Copyright 2018 Lady Samantha