The Writers Voice
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September 11
by
Elizabeth M. Hauptmann
Anger swarms inside my head,
Because the terrorists left Americans dead.
And as I wrote this,
I had cried,
For all the people who had died.
And as I say this,
I must shake,
And wish this whole thing was just plain fake.
I cannot breathe,
What is wrong?
And once again,
Will this be long?
I want to wake up and get out of this dream,
And have a banana split with whipped cream.
But I can't leave,
This is real.
Just too much for anyone to deal.
I want to be a little kid,
With a bottle and a bib,
For then I would not have to know,
What happened almost a month ago.
My heart beats fast,
And I can't think,
When will ends ever meet?
My mouth is dry,
My hands are cold,
Will this still be when I grow old?
I'm just twelve,
Almost thirteen,
I can't help it,
I want to scream,
Why can't this be a scary dream?
This is good,
I'm calming down,
Even though I'll wear a frown.
I want to help,
But don't know how,
I've donated and prayed,
But what now?
We will move on,
And still be strong,
Though the terrorists did wrong.
But while we wait,
I'll continue to pray,
And think about that Tragic Day.
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