Freedom Tower: The Triumph of Hope


Jutting upward, seeking contact with the New York sky, magnificent Freedom Tower reaches the playful summer clouds and makes a mantle of them.  One with the blue and the wind, its sleek glass walls absorb the energy of a city that is strong as it is beautiful.  There were tears on the holy ground where it stands, there was blood and pain, desperation, terror, disbelief and rage.  The air was dense with black smoke, and the stench of evil ripped hearts and minds. Ashes buried gardens, horror smothered laughter.  But the city rose again, radiant, more exuberant than ever.  Because New York is the spirit of resilience and fortitude, and New Yorkers gathered the scattered pieces of the devastation, and erected
a majestic memorial of joy.  Good shall always annihilate evil, hope will radiate from each new day that is born to offer us a second chance.  Glistening under the July sun that energizes this city of dreams come true, the Freedom Tower rises gloriously, the tallest structure in the western hemisphere, 1776 feet of glass and steel, 104 floors, a spectacular work of contemporary art.  At its feet lie the two mystical reflecting pools, where perpetual  waterfalls quietly murmur the names of the ones who were so abruptly taken from us.   The museum is nearby, and a long line of people waits patiently to enter the cool somber halls, where pieces of the original buildings are reverently preserved, silent witnesses of the events of the day that numbed America.  No, I didn’t join them.  I lived that September day, its claws still tear my flesh when I recall it.  I’ll simply run my fingers over the names engraved on the smooth black walls around the pools, gently touch a white rose that someone left for their lost angel.  ‘Nine eleven’ is one with the heavens now, and, though our bruises will never fade, we raise our gaze to the glistening silver spire and blink at the intensity of the sun reflecting on the crystal obelisk.  Yeah, America is going to be ok.


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