Zion

What a terrible place to covet.
Listen to the fools speak of a 3,000 year old promise.
Talk about a bad neighborhood.
Every cousin’s hand turned in anger.

Irony turned farce to fear.
Be paranoid or be dead.
There is Martin Luther’s curse,
And the world’s choir still in evidence.

With prayers and weapons all,
All, save America, wish my destruction.
I am the nightmare, not gone by morning,
Whose caricature they hate.

A tiny nation of stiff necked people.
Held to a standard never attainable,
Derided for its tortured history,
Its crime being persistence.

This time my people will stand,
And not apologize for our existence.
We will not appease our enemies
We will return their lashes one hundred fold.

My people are not without fault.
They do not limit their anger to the common enemy,
But, united by the condemnation that surrounds them,
Demean views contrary to theirs.

Once I dreamt of alliances 
For each had value worth sharing.
Now there is survival, only survival;
I do not dwell on what might have been.