Worshiping the Nights

After the hurricane struck,
I hopped on the volunteer train,
surrounding myself with ceaseless chatter.
Eight hours of travel felt like a lifetime,
yet the frantic babbling never died.
There was an explosion of silence upon arrival
for nothing was left of this city,
except canals of grief;
Katrina stripped the identity
of a metropolis built with love.
My stomach ate my heart as the truth set in;
people once lived here.
The only noise we heard was our own breath,
lungs expanding like balloons
only to be constricted by
the anaconda of labor.
Were we doing any good?
We were ants rebuilding our colony
one grain of dirt at a time.
White flags tempted me,
but my resilient nature rejected surrender.
Thus, I continued laboring,
worshiping nights
that saved me from reality.