I.
Was it a dream?
Planes crash into towers,
towers topple like toys,
people dive from the upper floors,
the scariest Tarot card come to life.
Nothing would ever be the same—
yet everything is the same.
I write this in my bed.
The bed is the same,
so are the bedroom walls,
and the trees outside the window.
The Edge is a little closer, that’s all.
Inductive reasoning:
The sun has come up every morning,
Therefore, the sun will come up tomorrow.
But now, we’re not quite as sure.
II.
I’ve screamed in dark nights that seemed endless,
yet every one had its dawn.
The encompassing Soul is always the same
even if Earth flies off its orbit,
careening into the Sun.
We’ll all wake up again,
and go to sleep again, many times.
But we can’t avoid
the ultimate destination.
We’re hurtling—toward God.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-11-2005/
