We The People

What good can come of this - the question recurring,
As towers topple upon the great metropolis and its citizens,
As the skies carry terror in unsuspecting crafts
And lovers pledge their eternal devotion,
As death's certainty plunges towards an eerie resting place,
As fire burns in Capitals and open fields - now crematoriums,
As jagged scraps of metal and concrete sand lay
In endless heaps of memories and lives lost,
As builders sift with bloodied hands the ruins of the unbreakable
And bagpipes whine in agony,
As citizens roam the now silent streets -
Praying for immortality beneath the fatal heap.

What good can come of this - the answer revealing,
As new patriots raise Old Glory and citizens sing in unison
The songs of their fractured homeland,
As strangers unite and embrace in sorrow,
As friends share tears of grief and pride of courage,
As neighbors pay alms and the once faithless
Seek solace in holy houses,
As leaders join around the globe to rid the world of terror.
As tears of loss and pride and fear and will pool into a sea of hope,
As history echoes the whispers of an old hero's cries,
The answer is resurrected - now a thunderous "We shall overcome!"