Hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory.

A flicker, a single thought, crosses my mind.

I remember, I remember when ash rained down like new fallen snow,

when our two resolute twins were brought to their knees.

Screams resounded off my narrow street.

Hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory;

I feel a hot tear, lingering on my cheek.

Another flickering flash of time gone by,

People crying, but holding each other.

The pain they feel, binding them together.

All with hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory.

I look over my shoulder and blink hard.

Where am I?

I feel as though my memory and reality are blurred.

I hear again, screams resounding off my narrow street.

The cries of those who live in fear of losing the land where they sought refuge.

The wails of the huddled masses who yearn to breathe free,

but are turned away.

Hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory.

The reds and blues are dulled,

The stars’ once white luster, is lost.

Have we forgotten who we are?

How have we allowed ourselves to become so far divided.

Have we forgotten how we clung to one another

when it seemed as though the world was ending?

It seems as though we have.

With heavy heart and brimming eyes,

Hand over heart, head lifted to Old Glory.