When the photos began coming in from 'Ol London town, I stood once again in frozen thoughts.  I was immediately transported back to
that dreadful day in September of 2001, not only in thought but prayers and pain.  I cried tears, I never felt well, and while my heart broke, for those that now lay dying and wounded, I was numb to  it's cracking and snapping echoes.
  I had no control over my feet, they refused to move. My face burned, like embers of a raging fire. The same questions haunted me, the same feelings ravaged me, when finally I couldn't breath, my lungs felt as though they were filled with the toxin of death. 

  Different places, different times, different lives ending but all the same as those before.  They remain nameless, except to those that loved and knew them. They are photos on walls and lamp posts, memories that will carry us through good times and bad times for many years to come.
  The days, weeks, months and years will pass. The clocks will not stop, the sun will not refuse to rise nor set. Tomorrow will find us, yesterday will fall into the pits of the past, but when the photos of
another attack find us, and be rest assured they will, we will be the recipients once again of these same feelings and thoughts.

  We will be angry, yet powerless, we will speak with the tongue of revenge, we will accompany darkness every night, trying to make sense of senselessness. We will exhaust all our energies, and finally come to the realization, that it could be us tomorrow, and our loved ones the day after, or what would be so much worse, we could actually recognize the nameless face on the wall and be left with the memories on the lamp post.  

  And then, someone else, will cry tears, they never felt well.