Fallen, September 11, 2001

Fallen, September 11, 2001

by Francine Phillips

The air beckoned

As the fire threatened.

A wall of power and heat

Melting the structure of The Important Things –

My Starbucks mug,

My laptop,

My corner office.

The air beckoned

“Throw yourself from this pinnacle and angels will lift you up,”

lured the Evil One.

So I leapt,



Heat on my face,

Cool loft on my neck.

Swirling, but falling.

Floating – will I float?

Will the laws of gravity suspend to let me live?

Will God let go of order to stop

For me?



The air beckoned.


Scurrying, crumbling,

Smoke billowing.

Can smoke hold me?

Can a crowd break a fall?

Come back! Don’t run! Come break my fall!

Death by elements.

Earth, wind, fire.

Fire, then wind, then, finally, earth.

But not finally.

Earth passed away.

The Holy Spirit rushed like a Wind.

The Refiner’s Fire yielded a river of gold

Flowing around me.

And the Evil One spoke the truth, after all.

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