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.
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