Hello Folks.  Today I was looking in my poetry books and trying to find something to share.  One poem jumped out at me even though I didn’t write it!  This one continuously chokes me up but until today I had no idea who wrote it!  It was written by Mr. Paul Spreadbury of Maine.  I don’t have express written permisison to post this or anything like that you if you are Mr. Spreadbury or represent him, I only post this as a reminder of the tragedy that happened that 9/11, so that we don’t ever forget.

I don’t want to infringe any copyrights or anything like that so just to be clear, this is not my poem, but one I like.  A lot.  Thanks for writing this Mr. Spreadbury, it gives us a very interesting perspective on the tragedy.

Written by:
Paul Spreadbury, York Beach, ME
beesboy@earthlink.net

Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait

A tall bearded man,
wearing a stovepipe hat
steps forward and greets them,
Then says, “Lets chat”.

They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
“I have a dream!” and once he did
The Newcomer says, “Your dream still lives.”

Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
“We’re from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine”
The Newcomer says, “You died not in vain.”

From a man on sticks one could hear
“The only thing we have to fear.
The Newcomer says, “We know the rest,
trust us sir, we’ve passed that test.”

A man with a twang from New England shores
Then proclaimed in a voice they had all heard before
“Courage like yours does not hide in caves
You can’t bury freedom, in a grave,”

A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day

“In the land of the living, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons

We smiled, we laughed,
we cried, we fought
Unlike you, great we’re not”

The tall man in the stovepipe hat
Stood and said, “don’t talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see
You died for freedom, just like me”

Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of ruined streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, rubble and dust
And people working just ’cause they must

Hauling ash,
lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell
But not alone

“Look! Blackman, whiteman, brownman, and yellow
Side by side helping their fellow!”
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
“Even from nightmares, can be born a dream.”

Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in ’44

The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
“I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow – but I don’t see fear.”

“You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You’re not really gone.

All of those people, even those you’ve never met
All of their lives, they’ll never forget
Don’t you see what has happened?
Don’t you see what you’ve done?
You’ve brought them together, together as one.

The man named Abe stood and said
“Welcome my friends,” and from there he led,
five thousand Newcomers, all heroes to heaven
On this day of our Lord, two thousand one nine eleven.

Written by:
Paul Spreadbury, York Beach, ME
beesboy@earthlink.net

Please share this around the social networks and lets start a conversation in the comments!

-Justin