deepundergroundpoetry.com
Israel
Peace was a promised land
of milk and honey
after 400 years of servitude.
But there were wars—
and rumors of wars
scattering the twelve tribes
to the four corners of the globe.
Then came ghettos of burgundy blood
dried between cobblestones,
and scientific experiments
pronouncing victims dead or deformed
. . .while the world looked on.
Until it threatened them.
Home was a promised land—
a final return
after many a millennium.
They should've drunk of its offering
while respecting boundaries
of those who tended it
during their absence—
prayed for those who despised them.
Until they realized:
Genocide brings no one back
from the dead
or anywhere else.
It only buries a legacy
they hoped to pass down
to their children's children.
Instead, it destines a nation
to reap what its sown,
plummeting from the sky
upon their heads.
of milk and honey
after 400 years of servitude.
But there were wars—
and rumors of wars
scattering the twelve tribes
to the four corners of the globe.
Then came ghettos of burgundy blood
dried between cobblestones,
and scientific experiments
pronouncing victims dead or deformed
. . .while the world looked on.
Until it threatened them.
Home was a promised land—
a final return
after many a millennium.
They should've drunk of its offering
while respecting boundaries
of those who tended it
during their absence—
prayed for those who despised them.
Until they realized:
Genocide brings no one back
from the dead
or anywhere else.
It only buries a legacy
they hoped to pass down
to their children's children.
Instead, it destines a nation
to reap what its sown,
plummeting from the sky
upon their heads.
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