ON HISTORY’S EDGE

By Kevin Degidon

The mountains are an awesome site,

Lift the soul to heaven’s height.

History to the sky she lifts,

Then drops you, plunging from the cliffs.

Home I walk from my networking firm,

Struggling to decipher what I learned.

I know the company’s days are few,

As I scramble to figure what to do.

I’m caught in a violent pouring rain,

The world looks darkened and insane.

I find refuge under a canapé at last,

And meditate on the summer past.

When with children in camp I worked,

To forget the dotcoms gone berserk.

I felt God’s Presence on the sea and sands,

Grabbed by a dozen little hands.

But now that sweet summer’s gone,

I must pick up my briefcase and move on.

Then a harsh wind knocks my papers in a flash,

And to the ground fall with a splash.

Violent thunder claps with rage,

Warning the ending of an age.

I curse the fate, stealing my big chance,

Striking the dream right from my hands.

I think back to investors of ’29,

Just as they cheer that all is fine.

To struggle and dream for their cash,

Only to lose all in a crash.

Why was I born in such a time,

To grow up amid Rome’s decline?!

Finally I get home to sleep,

And pray God let me fall deep.

Then in morning I awake to thunder,

Half asleep I start to wonder,

Maybe I should just snooze,

Just what else have I to lose?

Then I find that the sun is out,

Bewildered men wander about.

For that sound was not thunder from the heavens,

It’s the morning of September 11.