The Planes of September

The Planes of September
by Shelton F. Lankford

We all can remember the planes of September

How everything changed on that day.

The drama unfolded, the buildings exploded

And agents were spinning away

Creating a tale of the evil nineteen

And their sponsor who lives in a cave

With the artifacts placed at the scene of the crime

And a suitcase and will that were saved

By missing the flight that their owner was on

Though the manifests don’t show the names

Of the alleged miscreants who in Allah’s name

Caused so many to perish in flames.

Do you question the tale of the magic nineteen,

Those modern-day pirates who came

To partake of lap-dances and cocaine-fueled parties

Wreaking havoc in Mohammad’s name?

It’s written in stone now, the legend is frozen

It’s blessed by the powers that be.

Though it could not have happened the way that they said

To raise questions is rank heresy.

Some eight of the nineteen appear still alive

And Osama apparently perished

In December ‘01, never charged with the deed,

As a villian, his image is cherished

By those who desire all their subjects inert

And trembling in absolute fear.

And looking to leaders to preserve our lives

Now that terror and danger are near

Be afraid, be afraid, be very afraid,

We hear it again and again,

But is that the way that true free men behave?

Or should we not count it a sin?

To again see unspeakable crime covered up

And again see the guilty go free

A convenient scapegoat was ready again

Like November nineteen sixty three

The towers that fell on that September morn

Blew apart as not witnessed before

In a high-rise on fire, regardless the heat,

With explosions on every third floor

Just forget it, they say, we must get on with life

We just cannot afford to look back

Then we march off to war using that as excuse

For conducting “preemptive” attack.

It’s a brand new “Pearl Harbor”, it sanctifies us

Even though our objective is oil,

Our resources grow scarce, and we cannot sustain

This lifestyle with what’s left in our soil.

So we murder and bomb and irradiate them

With projectiles of nuclear waste.

And we liberate them so that our corporations

Can buy up their assets with haste

How much of our souls have we bartered away

Our wasteful lifestyle to preserve?

Will we ever regain the respect that we’ve lost

For losing our collective nerve?

Permitting a drama played out in New York

And DC by men not who they seem

A false-flag operation that appears to exceed

All of PNAC’s extravagant dreams

Until we the people demand the whole truth 

And accounting for deeds that were done.

We must share in the guilt that will never diminish

Until we see justice is done.



© 2007 Shelton F. Lankford