September 11th Epic Poem Chapter 14

The Following is Chapter 14 of the September 11th Epic Poem. It took me from June of 2008 until May of 2010 to write this poem. It is 2,000 lines long and contains 1,499 rhyming pairs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (In the Streets of Destruction) 
There comes a time in ev’ry mind
            For humans to decide,
If they can know where people go
            Whose bodies just have died.
It burns the most when death’s so close
            You glimpse the skull and hood;
And wonder how, a breath from now,
            You might be gone for good.
This need for fact was not abstract                   
            When tower one collapsed.
With growing fear that death was near,
            The victims’ brains synapsed.
So many boys would weep with joy,
            Surprised they were alive;
While others died, convinced inside,
            They somehow would survive.
As hearts were stopped the tower dropped,
            Already cloaked in mist. 
The structure broke with puffs of smoke
            As floors and ceilings kissed.
The orange eyes that scorched the skies
            Were fanned one final time;
To show, anew, what God could do                   
            To those who caused this crime.
The peoples’ tongues were in their lungs
            The moment that they grasped,
The dreadful fate that might await
            The lives to which they clasped.
They ran like deer with primal fear
            Across the urban street,
But while they lunged the tower plunged
            A thousand chilling feet.
As noises pulsed the ground convulsed
            And shook their piece of town,
While tons of trash began to smash                       
            The pavement all around.                      
The bricks and rocks rained down for blocks
            Eroding down to sand;
And people fled among the dead,                               
            Provided they could stand.
The human herd with vision blurred
            Was frantic for escape.
They tried to jog beyond the fog
            That kept on changing shape.
Survivors tell how many fell
            While struggling in the dark,
Till most were blind and had to find
            A place to wait and park.
The ones up close were scared the most,
            Afraid they’d be submerged.
They thought their friends had met their ends,
            When hotter vapors surged. 
Their hearts were flexed, expecting next,
            A ball of raging flame;
But in their grief they found relief
            When nothing ever came.[15]      
Though hopes improved they dared not move,
            Like troops before the dawn.
Though darkness pressed survivors guessed
            The worst had come and gone.
Escaping death they held their breath
            As long as they could wait.
Afraid, at last, though time had passed,
            They still might suffocate.
They had no chance while dust advanced
            To ventilate their core.
The grimy rain was still sustained
            For many seconds more.
As paper shreds engulfed their heads
            The wind began to blow.
They caught a glimpse in rapid squints,
            That looked liked like sleet and snow
Initial sounds had now been drowned
            In silence like the grave.
The fearsome quakes had ceased to shake
            The refuge of the brave.
The stillness broke to fits of chokes
            As people quickly stood.
They knelt and coughed and dusted off
            Their mouths the best they could.
In one locale a windy spell
            Had chased away the night.
The battered groups, like rescued troops,
            Were basking in the light.
But other fronts received the brunt
            Of what their neighbors lacked.
In darkness deep they fought to keep
            Their eyes and lungs intact.  
With fears unquelled survivors yelled,
            Still very much afraid.
To make it through, the wounded knew,
            They’d need somebody’s aid.
The great abyss was shaking with
            The shouting all around.
The strong, though blind, took pains to find,
            The sources of the sound.
Beside the struts of cars and trucks,
            The frightened ones called out.
With timid feet they found the street,
            Continuing to shout.
The noises merged as friends converged,
            Unable still to see;
Imbued with hope that one more grope
            Would set each other free.
They lurched in haste despite the taste
            Of ashes on the tongue.
And when at last their fingers clasped,
            They hugged like they were one.
If human touch can mean this much
            To creatures made from sod;
Then how much more is there in store,
            When folks reach out to God?
The need for fear can find its cure
            In someone you can trust.
The toughest men felt safe again
            While hugging in the dust. 
A frightened man will take your hand,
            As puppies grab a bone;
But woe to those who face their throes
            Completely all alone.

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