Another massacre fills the streets of our holy land
red staining cobblestone,
broken bodies riddled with bullets,
riddle me this –
if they see their sins justified, are they still considered sins?
To the rest of the world it seems not.
If guilt is replaced by glory in their homes, no forgiveness is sought, is forgiveness still required?
We mourn every time a brother is laid to rest, a child taken too soon, a woman’s womb swallowing sharp-edged swords, mangled and devoured by sharp-toothed beasts.
Are their cries forgotten, filed away?
If not, then where is our answer?
Where is the peace we’ve been searching for for generations,
wandering aimlessly
bleeding wastefully
yet proceeding gracefully while the white of our flag is drenched with never-ending red,
where is the silence?
Where is the justice?
And when we fight back, a right of the wronged, they say we have no right. They contort our image into those very same beasts that bloodied us,
and then blame us for the scars.
They laugh at our pain,
ridicule the maimed,
rejoice at our fallen feet,
the innocent blood on the streets,
and this to them is victorious?
Is deemed glorious?
This they consider holy work?
We’re caught in their holy war, do they even ask the One they’re doing it for? Do they ask if the blood is justified, a pesticide of hatred?
Is the purity of children’s innocence too questionable to require recompense?
Does any ounce of guilt consume them, or do they assume they’re immune to the doom of judgement?
When they finally perish, will they feel guilt from the truth of their actions? Even a fraction?
Only then, will they finally seek forgiveness?
Even then, could I really be ready to forgive?
