A Poem for Palestine

Who are the terrorists? The frail old men, those veiled limping mothers, these terrified children, or maybe the screaming babies. We watch them flee their homes, or what once was they exhale dust filled gasps concrete in their lungs preventing oxygen from reaching their broken hearts. All the corpses don't look real, but they are babies heads flop lifeless. Surely this is an apocalyptic tale with wounds and gashes or protruding eye. The Broken faces missing limbs torn from their places, places places, they have no place, poked and prodded, herded and caged, faith filled spirited souls held in captivity, held in captivity.

But you see, they're freer than their captors, free from worldly attachments and pursuits. Their souls are not bound to Bob's of hatred and arrogance. They fear none but Him. They trust in Him depend only on him have faith in only him and ache to meet him. So all you seek to threaten and terrorize with is rather a welcome invitation.

Try it if you will. Cowards. You can bomb and shoot and can maim and kill the you cannot eradicate a spirit that is infinitely bulletproof. Their destiny is an eternal bliss. Whilst you you live like this, your monsters and boogeyman the biggest terrorists of all, you cause terror because you're afraid of your own ugly holler reflection. So run and hide behind your sniper rifles in your remote weapon stations behind your tanks and rockets and missile launchers. You aim at them, but you'll never reach them, for their souls are out of reach more elevated and dignified than you could ever wish to be. Untouchable. In defeatable. Warriors protectors survivors, the faithful ones