September 11th Epic Poem Chapter 6

The Following is chapter 6 of the September 11th Epic Poem. The rough draft was written between June 2008 and May 2010. It is 2,000 lines long and has 1,499 rhyming pairs.
CHAPTER SIX  (The Collapse of the South Tower)
As papers flew the fires grew,
            While hopes of all grew dim.
And though they tried we knew inside 
            The rescue plans were slim.
The circumstance reduced the chance
            The fighters might get through.
Perhaps with pluck and lots of luck
            They still could save a few.
But those up high amidst the sky
            Were saddled with their doubts.
They looked for cheer despite their fear
            And hoped they’d soon get out.
Their joints felt weak, they tried to speak,
            But many mouths were mum.
As moments fled they felt the dread
            Of what was still to come.
I’m so perplexed by what comes next
            I find it hard to write.
I’m even scared I’m not prepared
            To illustrate their plight.
It takes, I think, a private link
            To fully comprehend,
The total cost of what was lost
            When hundreds met their end.
A sense of doom began to loom
            More thickly then before.
The occupants all got a sense
            Of terror at the door.
They felt alone with hearts of stone,
            And stomachs sick with gall;
And in their grief and disbelief
            They felt their tower fall.
They felt a sway as walls gave way
            And plaster crumbled first.
Then ceilings caved as columns waved
            And pipes and fixtures burst.
They heard the crunch as once by once
            The tower fell by floor,
And hopes were nixed when noises mixed     
            To form a dreadful roar.
The folks whose feet were in the street
            Broke out in horrid cries.
Despite the scenes their eyes had seen,
            It still came by surprise.
The nervous crowd who watched out loud
            The harsh yet distant fear,
So quickly felt their feelings melt
            As pain and death rushed near.
The tower caved as watchers raved
            And strength was turned to dust.
The great collapse occurred in snaps
            That ground it up like rust.
The people stared, still unprepared
            To see that thing erode:
It just seemed fake to watch it break,
            And topple and implode.
To those nearby it seemed the sky
            Itself had fallen down.
The boiling mist first clenched its fist,
            Then slammed it on the ground.
A torrid gust of brick and dust
            Released a deadly spray;
Whose random shots at human clots
            Blew many folks away.
The dreadful sound was all around
            As masses broke in fear.
They dropped their bags and ran like stags
            When hunting time is near.                        
Behind their backs the streets turned black,
            As smoke came bulging fast.
The fearsome cloud immersed the crowd,
            And covered them at last.
The risk of death increased its breadth
            From dream to living threat.
And some were caught who often thought
            Their time could not come yet.
These friends and kin who perished in
            That single, deadly, swipe;
Seemed unprepared for what they fared,
            Like fruit that’s not yet ripe.
Their lives, so young, to which they clung,
            Shone bright, yet unfulfilled. 
It seems so odd a loving God
            Would let them all be killed.
The pain and care they had to bear
            Is hard to understand;
But more than this, the uselessness  
            Of future deeds they’d planned.            
For some, though poor, still gave out more
            Than all the wealth they kept.
And some were rich who served a niche
            By paying patients’ debts.               
Had God gone mad who killed the bad
            Along with all the good?
What sage today can really say
            His ways are understood?
These ones he picked to die so quick             
            Deserve our great respect.
Their humble lives epitomize
            The best of either sex.
They helped us fight both day and night,
            Our anger, lust, and greed.
In days like these when doubts increase                       
            They’re just the kind we need.
For you who think we’re on the brink,
            Can learn from those who fell:
You modernists who dare insist
            There’s nothing here but hell.
If nine of ten are greedy men
            Who never will repent,
Then what will you attribute to
            The other ten percent?
Are they all sick, or dumb, or thick,
            Who sometimes do what’s right?
Perhaps you’ll find the fact you’re blind
            Is why you see no light.
If still you claim we’re all the same
            You really must be dense:
A single deed that’s not from greed,
            Destroys your best defense.

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