By Brad Trom
Born into shadows cast before their first
breath,
They grew in the footprint of sudden loss and
death.
Children of a morning when the sky fell
down,
Carrying a quiet weight through every town.
No memories of the sirens or the dust in the
air,
Only a framed portrait, a father not there,
A mother’s steady voice when the story was
told,
An aching gap left where a hand was meant
to hold.
Yet they are more than the tragedy that
marked their start,
They are voices of resilience, each a beating
heart.
Woven through the fabric of a world
transformed,
Navigating the era where the modern storm
was formed.
A global aftermath written in their blood and
bone,
Finding common strength in never standing
alone.
From the ashes of September came a rising
light:
A generation stepping forward into the open
night.
