PAUL SPREADBURY
TWO THOUSAND ONE, NINE ELEVEN
Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven
As they pass through the gate,
Thousands more appear in wait
A bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying "Let's sit, let's chat"
They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
"I have a dream!" and once he did
The Newcomer said, "Your dream still lives."
Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
Others in khaki, and green then say
"We're from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine"
The Newcomer said, "You died not in vain."
From a man on sticks one could hear
"The only thing we have to fear."
The Newcomer said, "We know the rest,
Trust us sir, we've passed that test."
"Courage doesn't hide in caves
You can't bury freedom, in a grave,"
The Newcomers had heard this voice before
A distinct Yankees twang from Hyannisport shores.
A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day.
"Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports
Worked our gardens, sang our songs
Went to church and clipped coupons
We smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought
Unlike you, great we're not"
The tall man in the stovepipe hat
Stood and said, "Don't talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see
You died for freedom, just like me."
Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams
Death, destruction, smoke and dust
And people working just 'cause they must
Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone
"Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman
Side by side helping their fellow man!"
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
"Even from nightmares, can be born a dream."
Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in '44
The man on sticks studied everything closely
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
"I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow - but I don't see fear."
"You left behind husbands and wives
Daughters and sons and so many lives
Are suffering now because of this wrong
But look very closely. You're not really gone.
All of those people, even those who've never met you
All of their lives, they'll never forget you
Don't you see what has happened?
Don't you see what you've done?
You've brought them together, together as one."
With that the man in the stovepipe hat said
"Take my hand," and from there he led
Five thousand plus heroes, Newcomers to heaven
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven
©Copyright September 14, 2001 by Paul Spreadbury
Webmaster's Note: In reponse to my request for permission to include Paul's poem on the IWVPA website, he replied as follows:
"I would be honored if you kept the poem up on the International War Veterans' Poetry Archives - with or without my name. I wrote this in response to some issues my 14 year old daughter and her class were grappling with after the attack. They were struggling with the notion that so many kids, like them, had lost parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts. Unlike soldiers, sailors and airmen who - for the most part - voluntarily put themselves in harms way to protect our country -- these people and their families just 'went to work' that day. My daughters class was having a hard time trying to attach any value at all to the loss. So the poem was written. Then someone emailed it to someone and off it went. The point being, it wasn't written to credit me but to credit those who lost their lives and their families."
From J. Holley Watts:
The poem that you have on your website two thousand one nine eleven... It came to me in a email with author unknown... I added music to it and I speak the words from my heart on a mp3. I also mention that I did not write or take credit in any way for the poem
I would love to send to Mr. P. Spreadbury my version of his fantastic and heartfelt poem. I have no way of contacting him... If you would could you please forward this on to him,. I lost two dearly loved people that terrible day myself.
Sincerely Holley
September 12, 2006
Click in box below to listen to a recital of Paul Spreadbury's Poem by J. Holley Watts
This is a 3.04 mb MP3 file and plays for 3:19 minutes