The world turned in its usual round,
A splendid dawn in pastels gowned.
Then paused…shuddered … and shrieked.
The Twin Towers groaned,
Reluctant bombers, unerring pilots,
Pierced once daunted pillars.
Terribly they tumbled to the ground,
Now rubble burning hot with flesh,
Entangled with bone and death.
Mephisto raised his fist exultant.
To God he cried: You gave me leave,
Now tell me who has won!
The Angels wept for the souls they met,
Wandering in know-how’s debris,
Not caring where they were bound.
One was stern as he looked around.
Calmly he called to the aimless souls,
Who gathered under his wing.
God heard the cries – Mephisto’s too –
And brooded long at the ways of men.
How will it end? he asked of them.
Frank Thomas Smith