The soldiers with their mellow hats
Shading the summer sun
From faces the perfect age
To be taught to be so fierce.
If you look close enough
You can see the wrinkles
Already forming like
River tributaries of spilt blood
Trickling down stream
To a truly dead sea peace.
In a world where you can get
More blood from one stone
Then one would expect
And the bodies of children are piled
Like sandbags against the relentless
Tides of tanks and combat boots.
The enemy portrayed is
A double sided carnival mirror.
Twisted and contorted faces
That believe their own truths to be eternal.
Each reflection their own inhumanity
Towards the other and their own.
The victims have no say
The warlords on both sides
Have it their way.
The peace dove lies in the dust
Behind a bombed out falafel stand,
Beaten to death by an olive branch.