The Road from Damascus (©2013 John T. Windle)
After putting down the phone
A tidal wave of testosterone
Ocean rushes in
Clears her house and her home
The infants hide behind her skirts
The men and boys now have one shirt
And so it goes, civil war.
All across the Middle East
Kids are being dragged into pits
And the men
Swear revenge, wouldn’t you?
They’re tired of exhaustion but
Afraid of getting scared again is not
an option, so civil war.
Fight or flight from future flaws?
Is the family core?
There’s no escape from
What you saw was wrong.
Who should answer that constantly knocking door?
Ageing Generals the drones
Soldiers have always been collateral clones
No surprise
Nothing new, nothing more
And rusty wheels are turning
Young impressionable adults are burning.
Children too. That’s the score.
It’s all across the world to see
Power patterns from hostility.
The threat of death
or survival vexes few.
Religious and secular texts,
exploited by the men we’re told we must respect,
clearly wrong, over to you.
Ash damp Lying is, Dust Upon Crying
Enlightened aren’t we?
Not rid of knowing or answer whying.
That’s not my understanding of humanity.
The Road from Damascus is
a spinal cord peppered with cuts and other injuries.
Leaders observe, take some notes, leave the room.
The disconnected cross the desert dry
with vultures circling their stateless skies,
biding their time, that’s what they do,
harvesting hopes and watching you.
After putting down the phone
A tidal wave of testosterone
Ocean rushes in
Clears her house and her home
The infants hide behind her skirts
The men and boys now have one shirt
And so it goes, civil war.
All across the Middle East
Kids are being dragged into pits
And the men
Swear revenge, wouldn’t you?
They’re tired of exhaustion but
Afraid of getting scared again is not
an option, so civil war.
Fight or flight from future flaws?
Is the family core?
There’s no escape from
What you saw was wrong.
Who should answer that constantly knocking door?
Ageing Generals the drones
Soldiers have always been collateral clones
No surprise
Nothing new, nothing more
And rusty wheels are turning
Young impressionable adults are burning.
Children too. That’s the score.
It’s all across the world to see
Power patterns from hostility.
The threat of death
or survival vexes few.
Religious and secular texts,
exploited by the men we’re told we must respect,
clearly wrong, over to you.
Ash damp Lying is, Dust Upon Crying
Enlightened aren’t we?
Not rid of knowing or answer whying.
That’s not my understanding of humanity.
The Road from Damascus is
a spinal cord peppered with cuts and other injuries.
Leaders observe, take some notes, leave the room.
The disconnected cross the desert dry
with vultures circling their stateless skies,
biding their time, that’s what they do,
harvesting hopes and watching you.
