Israel

He was just a child

Born of necessity

Carrying centuries-old scars

So deep

He wouldn't recognize Himself without them.

Old wounds

They tend to itch

Inviting hungry nails

Scraping an all too sensitive skin.

Blood flowing

   and gushing

      and drowning

Any hope for peace.

With one finger He wipes a tear

With the other He pulls a thousand triggers.

The shudder

   of the wing

      of the aircraft as it drops the bomb

He is already too insensitive to feel.

His Brother's blood is screaming from the soil

But His own blood screams louder.

Funny thing about blood...

The right amount lets us know we're human.

Too much turns us into killing machines.

They say that peace sells...

But He knows His scars sell more.

And so He uses them

To justify His entire existence.

Yet the market today is all about fresh blood

And while people are tired of fighting

They are not yet tired of selling weapons

And He is all too eager to buy.

So now He is the neighbourhood bully.

They cannot see He is hurting;

He cannot see He is hurting someone else...

Israel,

you endured great suffering

and inflicted them too.

In this twilight hour,

may your pain transform you,

may it break your heart

and reach deep into your soul

to find the seed of eternal love

extending to all

   through all

      in all...

May you be free to end this cycle of violence

and choose the road to peace.

First published on April 2023.