Wednesday, December 5, 2007



Atlanta 1996

A secret madperson
drifts like a miasma,
inner excitement
screaming like a siren,
waiting to rip through
lively celebration,
walking through the crowd,
can’t wait for the sight
of fear, panic, and death.
Like a tornado snatches,
taints and destroys,
strikes at the unaware
who exult in the beauty
of healthy young bodies,
those striving to be best,
those who love a contest.
But, like ants in a crushed nest,
Olympians carry on,
and so do the rest.
Flowers are placed
on cement christened
by death and blood.
Words are spoken.
The contests begin again:
great athletes compete,
new records are made.
The torch is alight.

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