I am nothing more than star dust.
Long, I held myself to be,
Just, collected, the scattered dust,
from some past eternity
How random --how beautiful
Majesty, in such a simple form
humbled and at the same time, blessed,
From such stuff to be born.
But these days the dust I breathe
The dust I have become,
Is the dust of five thousand souls
And more, in me, as one
My city is a charnel house.
It sears me to the core
Now I am the dust of human souls
Of stardust, I am no more.
In 2001 I was working for a Federal agency in NY's downtown area(in a contract postion)
By Thursday (September 13) I was back to work--in other offices, doing my small part to make things better.
Monday September 23rd, I was back down town. TheWorld Trade Center was still burning, and would continue to burn for months.
At first there were full fires, but til late December, things smoldered.
Every day, the air was filled with awful smoldering smoke and and dust. I wrote the poem during those long dark months.