By Michael Tyler
What kind of heart does sculpt a soul
With the chisel of contempt,
And gravely carve, in perpetuity,
The course of violent change?
What kind of mind can conjure thoughts
Of grisly gore and gruesome carnage,
And spawn those fiendish feats
That elude fair understanding?
What kind of eye does see a child
As ready ammunition,
To aim with callous cause
And exact the double death?
What kind of hate emits a heat
That can melt defiant steel,
And reduce to monstrous ruins
What stood before with bold resolve?
These are the questions that torment us,
That scoff at sensibility,
That rap the face of reason
And mock what earnest morals pose.
These are the questions that beleaguer,
That harass and haunt our healing,
That direct both doubt and dread
To seize command of our good senses.
—
Yet, these also are the questions
That grimly yield our base reflection;
The hideous cast of evil
That lurks within us all.
So, in our momentary need
To find kin with friendly strangers,
Let us gaze upon that image
With more purpose than revenge.
Let us stare with common vision,
In this most uncommon time,
And brave the painful effort
To find the answers, grief conceals.
Let us chronicle and examine
Both the hero and the heathen,
And learn those final lessons
Each imparts in final deeds —-
For civil fate and martyred lives
Demand that history’s better cause,
Go beyond just retribution
To be preserved and redeemed.
Lest we repeat with heightened horror,
Both our tragedies and our losses,
Let us strive to one day end
The deadly hate of false divisions.
From the Author
When a commission was formed to plan the reconstruction of the former World Trade Twin Tower site, I, along with other writers, was asked to submit a poem or essay for consideration to be included near the reflection pond of One World Trade Center — Freedom Tower.
The poem I wrote was not selected but has been used by others for memorial ceremonies, through the years. I’m offering it to EJS for the commemoration of the September 11th attack. But first, a little history on why I wrote what I wrote.
On the peaceful and serene morning of September 11, 2001, I like many Americans was at the start of an otherwise routine day. Also like many Americans, I took note of just how picturesque the heavens were above me. Then the terror struck, and like my fellow citizens, I was horrified, shocked, appalled, angry and frightened. I spent the remainder of the day, and for several days that followed, completely absorbed by the never-ending coverage of the tragedy.
One of my most visceral memories from that day was going outside around 11:30 CST, two hours after the North Tower collapsed. I was living in a neighborhood situated in the heart of the business and commercial area of Chicago. I wanted to assess the reaction of others near me. What I saw has never left me.
Seemingly thousands of people were walking through the streets, as they were being sent home from the buildings they worked in, given the uncertainty of more attacks. It was the largest en masse funeral march I had ever witnessed. Many people were in tears and embracing each other, but nearly everyone was traumatized beyond speaking. I walked around the Gold Coast and through The Loop and didn’t hear a single person utter a single word. The hearts, minds and souls of everyone was in a state of silent devastation.
When I returned home, I began writing what became One September Morning, choosing the title to signify a day that I knew would forever change the nation and the world, but also because “morning” is the homophone of “mourning”, the state the entire nation was in.
After writing the first six stanzas, I stopped. Much more was in me to write but I wanted to complete the poem after having more reflection about the event, and how the nation was processing it. So, I marked my calendar to complete it six months to the day of the attack. This is why it appears written in two sections, with the first half offering an immediate, emotional and psychological reaction and the second half offering a more deliberated and philosophical introspection. It is my hope that everyone will read it, with this intention in mind.
In tribute to those we lost,
Tyler