America,
I have not forgotten you.
I have not forgotten what you mean to me, who you are,
or how I feel when I hear them sing to you.
I have not forgotten the rights and the wrongs
or the mistakes from our past.
I have not forgotten the people who have poisoned you
nor can I forget the wrongs, which we have done
And I say we, — not you,
but we, or us as a group or nation, or as a society,
and perhaps divided as ever, I understand
the crucial truth behind
the basic principles of terrorism
which is to divide
and conquer.
I understand why the great master, Master Sun Tzu
instructed to strike with chaos,
which is to create havoc
and instill confusion through controversy,
and yes, I understand that a bird needs two wings
to fly straight. However, America,
I understand that whether we talk about
the left or the right wing of our government,
both wings are damaged or broken. Hence,
our flight is not as smooth
or as possible as it would be,
if we were loyal
to the truth of your banner or flag,
as in The Red, The White,
and The Blue.
America,
I love you with all of my heart.
And I am sorry for my trespasses and yes,
while I am no one to judge,
and to persecute,
I understand that I can be misguided at times
or judgmental without authority.
I often play judge or jury in situations
that I am not educated enough to judge.
But I want to be better.
I want to be true to the words
that ring in my ears on days like today, like,
when they sing, “Oh beautiful,
for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.”
I want this.
I want the dream.
I want the divine right to find peace, and liberty,
and to be part of you,
or to be like a thread that weaves
in your flag of The Red, The White,
and The Blue.
America,
I am sick at times.
I am unwell and undeserving on some occasions.
I am a man with regret for my sins and above all,
I am a man who regrets
that I did not serve you,
like my Father did before me.
The Old Man WW II
I saw a picture
I have a photograph . . .
America,
I want to serve you, now more than ever,
and yes, today, of all days—today is a day
in which I bow my head with tearful eyes,
and with a mournful heart.
I pray for the souls
and for the friends who I lost here
on your soil which, to me,
this is your soul or the heart of your truth.
See, America, it is not YOU
who has done wrong. It is us.
Forgive me, my country,
for I know not what I do at times.
And I am not alone
But you, yes . . .
You, New York, New York.
I am here.
I am here to give you my all.
I am here to bend at the knee in remembrance
for the day which changed all days after.
I am here now, sitting quietly of course,
as if to be in my most humble moment of silence
and in prayer, I say
remember me friends
for when I walk the shadow of the valley of death
remember me and greet me when I cross over.
I am thinking about you, Father Mike,
my friend who chose to be my friend
when no one else would
or wanted to.
New York,
I am open and exposing my heart
and my love and with all my humility,
I am grateful for the moments
when you let me play in your streets.
I am grateful for the memories
which you have allowed me to create.
I am grateful for your skyline,
which welcomes me in the early morning
as I drive over the 59th Street Bridge.
I see you . . .
I see you still, my old friends, The Towers,
and I remember you well.
And soon enough, today, on your day of memorial,
they will toll the bells at the moment
when the first plane struck The Towers.
I will never forget when my friend Ronnie called me.
“Benny . . . They got Father Mike,”
and after making a long trip home,
after making it out from the scene of the crime,
uptown, which is where I was,
standing on the rooftop of 909 3rd Avenue
to watch in outrage and disbelief,
I recall Ronnie’s words slowly in my ears—
and that’s when I turned to the television,
grateful to be safe, at least,
and then I saw him . . .
They showed a picture of Father Mike
being carried away.
He was my very special friend.
I have always loved my country.
I might not love all of the people in it,
and I might not love the politics.
I might get angry or frustrated.
and I might not love the things that happen,
but I do love you—America.
But please, just know
I want the dream.
I want to find my place on your soil
and have a home and have my love
and my heart be equally fulfilled.
I want to find my place here,
in the bosom of your love,
America, and if at all possible,
I want to see everything you share with me
and share it with those who I love the most.
Blessed Father,
Please keep me safe.
Please let me open my eyes enough
to see the truth,
which is that goodness can and will prevail.
I have not forgotten.
I will always remember.
I will never surrender.
United we stand.
Divided we fall.
One day, America—
I promise you.
I will give back what you have given to me.
And to you . . .
Just in case you didn’t hear this enough from me,
in case something should happen,
and if they should come today
on this mournful anniversary,
I want you to know that I love you
with all of my heart and just know
that not even death can take this away from you.
My love is like our Flag, flowing,
and ever standing, always alive,
and always in your heart.
The Written Addiction 