Today is September 11, 2012.

Last night, on  September 10, 2012, I went to bed thinking about classes the next day, things that had to be done, money that had to be spent.  I thought about problems in my relationships, things to fix those problems.  I thought about the horse whom I'd spent most of the evening riding.  I didn't think about the anniversary of the tragedy that happened 11 years ago.

When I woke up this morning, I got ready for school, made sure I had my homework done, grabbed a mug of coffee on the way out the door, and shivered in the morning chill of autumn.  I got in my car and turned on the heat, waited for the windows to defrost, and pulled out of my driveway.  I didn't think about the anniversary of the tragedy that happened 11 years ago.

I was on the highway and someone passed me, too close, and I wondered how some people pass their driving tests.  I got stuck behind a school bus while a very slow teenager boarded, and wondered how I would get to my class on time.  In town, I slowed to let a cat cross the road in front of me, and wondered how it had made it across so many times before.  I didn't think about the anniversary of the tragedy that happened 11 years ago.

On country roads, I turned up my radio when I heard my favorite song come on: “For You,” by Keith Urban.  I sang along with the lyrics, knowing that I was going to cry when I heard the lines, “And in his pocket, just like mine, he had a photograph, and they're waiting for him back home.”  At that moment, the significance of today's date popped into my mind.  September 11, 2012.  And I thought about the anniversary of the tragedy that happened 11 years ago.

I had twenty minutes to get to class, but I couldn't drive any more until I gave a moment to my thoughts about the day.  I pulled over on the side of a familiar country road and turned my music off.  I looked out the window to see the rolling farmland and I felt the cool breeze on my face, and thought about how much I take this world for granted.  This is my country, and the ones who perished on September 11, 2001 would have taken this day for granted too, if that tragedy had not happened.  It was time to think about the present, and see it for its beauty, and not for its frustrations.

I thought about my life, just for a moment.  I went to school, and throughout my classes, I could not stop thinking.  I remembered how I cried when I went to New York and saw the 9/11 Memorial in the footprints of the twin towers.  I thought about the tribute songs to the event.  I thought about my dear friend and my brother, who are fighting for our country as members of the military.  With every thought, I chose to look at something new; something I had seen a hundred times, but could possibly never see again.

The future is unpredictable.  My life is a small speck in a world of sand.  I owe it to thousands of people, because if one person did something differently on any day, in any moment, there is a chance that I would not be here. On September 11, 2012, I give thanks more than any previous anniversary of the event.  Today, I am an 18-year-old adult, free to make choices, free to vote for my country's leaders, free to fight for it.  And as I look out across the fields, and to the sky, and at the flag hanging at half-staff, I decide that I will fight for it, in one way or another, because people have died and more will die to let me appreciate these things and I will not let their death be in vain.

Our eyes begin the first line,
Blinking out metaphors
As we share secrets without speaking.
Our hands start the rhythm,
Fingers interlocking and swinging
     with every footstep.
Our voices create the verse,
And the chorus comes to life
As we kiss, as we kiss.
Whispers becoming rhymes.
How I would adore spending eternity
Writing poems with you.

Moon, my beloved, forgive, the fault is solely mine,
beguiled by your beams, I have yearned for your love,
my heart, lost in love, is such a wayward dove,
*it would fly, fly, but how would it ever reach you?

Is *** the beginning or the end of a relationship

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

When you walk into the room,
fireworks before me, a ship sinking and yet,
i forget my minds sails to another parallel that swims to deep,
tutut, juju, and warm to light and heartbeat torture of another day
that pendulum monkey on my back dances to that haunted dancefloor
that begs to be conquered from thankful bells that toils to answer,
our disguise and wonder, my sweet our touch is a beauty of a crash course,
for the ravers as you much on quaver after quaver, what about the midnight hour
that gets to be a sweet requiem of us, justice to us that never follow their favourite game.
Goodnight.