This page continues (from page 15) my commentary on religious terrorism, with associated links.
I offer a Tribute to America, in my poem below.
My writings are in black. Plagiarized text is in maroon, sometimes highlighted by me in red.
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America, America, whose dagger has pierced your heart? *
A poem by Wayne Paulson: a tribute, in this time of sorrow, to America, the chief defender of freedoms that are allowed in only a secular democracy.
In the waning of the summer, upon the awakening of September eleven,
When a crescent of the moon still shone, on the breast of dawn, faint in the heaven,
Another crescent was to form, as a gentle arc so clear in air,
A jet plane full of people diverting eastward -- toward New York, so fair.
Over Manhattan, ever so gently, glided the tip of this new sword --
Like a scimitar being unsheathed to start doing the work of the Lord.
But did those who looked up from 'round the World Trade Center
Even grasp why this sword would become its terrible, swift renter?
Could they believe how flames and acrid smoke surged toward heaven --
That Heaven now embracing its newest true believers, six or seven?
Those true believers in Allah, so fanatic in their faith,
Now vaporized in liquid fire streaming skyward in a wraith.
Yet, lo, another sword came curving, like a snake so serpentine,
In a slow arc dreadful, seeking where next to stab its venomous tine.
Now twice the World Trade Center lay stricken in flames that billowed
As in slow motion, as if a volcano was softly pillowed.
Can one believe the sight of papers and of people jumping earthwards
From the floors eighty to one hundred, that have now become death-wards?
Then, 'mid screaming hordes of people, did the spires of those tall towers
Just sink, as if an earthquake had sliced loose those stately twin flowers,
And crushed and crushed, as downward collapsed those formerly husky stems,
Into an inferno of wrack and dust now roiling upward, like fog from Kurdish fens,
As if new flowers of evil now sprouted skyward, like fat grasping claws
To billow forth -- and so obscenely -- more than fill those gaping maws.
Oh America, America, whose dagger has pierced your heart -- and the world of the free?
And who would dance in the streets, to celebrate this with glee?
Whose deadly sword of vengeance has been so terribly hurled?
In the name of whose God of righteousness has the flag of this Crusade unfurled?
Could it not be the terrible swift sword of Old Testament lore
Stabbing from across the waters to smite this free and secular shore?
Could it not be the vengeance that is mine, as has said at least one Lord?
Or could it be the devouts at work, who -- in secularism to stem --
Obey Mohammed's 'Holy' bidding to " . . . slay the idolaters wherever you find them . . . "**?
Now, as the eve is settling, but not yet those billows drifting far,
What do we but see through smoke, but that lunar crescent aside a nearby lonely star?
It used to glow in friendly amber at harvest time -- even if on the wane --
A harbinger of plenty, from the fruits of a bounteous plain.
But it no longer shines with the promise of joyous hopes aflood,
But as a curved Eastern scimitar, its blade drenched crimson in unholy blood.
** The Koran, Sutra 9:5
-- By Wayne R. Paulson, 20 Sep 01.
* This poem -- America, America, whose dagger has pierced your heart? -- is (c) Copyright Wayne R. Paulson, 2001. All rights reserved. You are encouraged to freely forward or post this poem for non-commercial purposes, provided that you cite the author and this notice.
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You can e-mail me at waynerp@sympatico.ca