Survivor’s Guilt
I saw it happen right before my eyes,
A loud noise, then darkness, a few short cries.
I didn't realize how much things had changed,
Unaware that my whole world had been rearranged.
Looking back now on that terrifying scene,
I still can't believe I made it out clean.
Bruises, broken bones, it all seems so small
Compared to those who didn't make it at all.
A foot to the left, six inches to the right,
If I hadn't been standing where I was that night,
I might not be here; it could've been me
That left behind a grieving family.
Now that I've been exposed to such fanatical hate,
I wonder who's in charge; who decided my fate?
Why was I chosen as one of few who would live?
What is my purpose? What more can I give?
There are so many people that just cannot see,
They think I should be thankful that it wasn't me.
But how can I be happy that I'm still breathing,
When I'm still too busy mourning and grieving?
Many who died were better people than I.
So why was I spared when they had to die?
Living like this is destroying what I've built.
This must be what they call survivor's guilt.
September 23, 2002
Copyright © 2002 Paula G. Cook