The Old Math
Out of the East on stolen wings they came,
like raptors,
innocent of pity.
Self-righteous, single-minded,
they slit the air with hate keener than box cutters,
fell on unsuspecting prey,
on one,
then on its twin some minutes later.
They'd got it wrong,
of course -- the direct access into Paradise.
By another reckoning,
souls in their hundreds leapt up to God as one,
leaving a hole in the morning sky,
in a thousand thousand hearts.
By Carol M Catt
from Selected Poems
HT to VirtueOnline
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