DEATH Poem: Christ was Palestinian, by Dillon Walker

In the moment of crisis
Fingers point all around.
The past, the present
The sky, underground,
Hypothetical militants,
Hospitals, towns.
Call it lebensraum or manifest destiny
Call it a land without people
Excuse the inhumanity.
When the tanks roll in
They always call it justice
Cause you can always trust us
We avert our eyes
To that which disgusts us.
Well for those who live in the imperial core
I hope you hear the rockets roar
The bombs we hurl
At the world’s pour.

To the victims:
It’s just a poem that I write.
A vain and impotent gesture
It won’t bring children to life.
Would that it could
Make the horror end tonight.
They can take your families, your lives
Saturate the airwaves
With their intricate lies
And they can throw down the buildings
Brick by brick,
But no force on this Earth can break the Palestinian spirit!

Author: poetryfest

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