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Poem

What have you done to your eager young sons
where will they hide now from the searing sun
and what Jordan river will wash off their pain
your gods were forgotten in your hurry to aim
and the holiest of places are no longer within reaching
and the hopes of the many are drowned by the foolish
we grow feckless and fearful and can no longer see them
their books are unread and unuttered forever
this infection grows scabs all over our bodies
and the fairest of faces turns a dark ugly pallor
our  thoughts are distorted by soulless mad leaders
and our fields are grown weary of growing our bounty
and winds bringing clouds never release their waters
and the dry, warring fields of faraway places
are filled with fresh holes of the people who walked there
and we never once lifted a hand to defend them
and the sand in our faces we'll never inherit
and the righteous bold fruits of the mighty have rotted
their tongues of salvation are shriveling inside them
and the voices of liberty are empty and hollow
may the god of our fathers bring ashes and sorrow
and the end is a welcome change to our blood letting
the rivers that watered and cooled and once fed us
are swirling in angry revenge all around us
a pillar of salt is all that is left standing.

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