In this life we often see,
As a manner turns the tide,
A mark of this reality,
That makes us prone to wont and hide.
I see lady liberty,
With her hand to her heart in memory,
While she wrote in her book things we should never see,
As she stared in horror at the scene.
She stands alone in smoke-filled skies,
As she watched us all with teary eyes,
As four thousand men wrote their demise,
From where hate and devilish blood-lust lies.
Now what cost of men and waste of life,
And global turns of fire and ire,
Shall we be better than the latter?
Or in our hate evil admire?
So “memory” she says to me,
For forgotten woe is as if none be,
And with this wrong we all agree,
Or else with jaded masks we wearers see.
So now in stone have carved these words,
For in this-
This document shall we remember,
That which hate has cost these lives,
On this Eleventh of September.