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There are no heroes at ground zero
just civilians and countless dead
lying in their melted beds;
a million wretched shadows etched
and cinders thick on state house steps.

The grieving melody of tired wind
upon the sands where children played,
and ranks of glowing steel, blast raped
and sightless in the amber mounds
a flash-burnt face upon the ground.

All the shades of yesterday
mute, forever stilled,
in pus burn stink and gamma
embers in the wind with
hurricane heat on obsidian streets.

Glass drop dunes in frozen waves
by aiming points and purple dusks,
and amongst the final ruins
with crushing sorrow wander
the unlucky ones.

Cursing all their tomorrows
winding down to the full stop,
put upon their universe by fingers
poised only briefly over the buttons,
unleashing Armageddon.

Yes sick at heart they put in the keys
and turned them in unison, seeing
from their concrete tombs the children,
looking up without comprehension
as Alpha and Omega fell on their horizons.

John A. Moller
Whiskey Two Company RNZIR


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