Two Seven Five Two
Two Seven Five Two Plumes of smoke curl Grasping the air from Places and people, Streaming out From windows Cut open by a silver bird of death. Fire glows red through Banks of grey clouds Fog the buildings from view In evil’s shade Two Seven Five Two died. Twin buildings once reached to the sky Carrying hopes and dreams For many little people Moving at their own pace Through the day. Windows were cleaned In coffee bars and restaurants Chefs cooked meals Waiters served them Customers ate them... Sign in to see full entry.