Beside the dead, it’s living still,
and knowing killed had mothers too,
their nurture, breast, in common, so
their mind and soul grown in their soil -
as yours, but which the greater soiled?
For every soldier’s demon haunts
with tempting taunts and question marks,
for both themselves, adversary,
claim God as ally on their side,
as executed battle plan.
Await that one last blast before
the ceasefire known temporary,
for common too their ‘chosen’ call,
that landfill, rubble soon the tribe,
a race to make habitable,
but which race to inhabit it?
The olives, fig trees, feelings too
for homeland of their ancient soil;
though watered by blood, sweat and toil,
these killing fields wish fruit to yield;
where watermelons for peace could
drink from the price of history,
seed future not from ceded land,
but milk and honey, nature shared,
the human state where two found bound.
A poem that hooked me from the start Stephen, a neo-classic vibe most welcome, the odd couplets were like musical pauses, on first read gave me time to contemplate, 2nd reading, sparked, my mind to interests new. Above all, It cheered me hear that whisper, that speaks to me ,
the emotion, that I value in poetry, and which I fail to find sometimes.
Thank you
Made me think of the old Dylan song "God on our side". Good writing
Thought provoking as ever
A well balanced vignette of life (or death) , the use of biblical references highlights the longevity of the turmoil.. a state of the union message if you will..
Liked it alot