Israel, the dream of the dispossessed
born of ancient mythical beliefs
of seers, prophets and warrior kings.
A land, desired by wanderers of old,
warned, when history was legend,
make no territory yours but was ignored.
A people, honed by journeys long and tiring,
filled with dreams of being chosen
by a god not seen before, a guide within the fire.
The promises, signed, sealed and delivered,
fulfilled with omens, dreams and sights
carried tribes to where milk and honey flowed.
A dynasty, proclaimed god given right to rule,
in spite of prophetic cries of doom,
and judges gave way to one king over all.
A conqueror, defeated and dispersed the tribes
to scatter far and wide and leave but two,
clinging in despair to their dream of Israel’s land.
A god, conceived of centuries before,
born again in words and tales of founding fathers,
sons, wars and strife laid out a history for life.
A restoration, to rule again their tribal kingdom,
gave hope, but time, and unheeded warnings,
saw the end of golden days as it fell before the Romans.
The diaspora, a journey on an epic scale,
ending with the tribe’s near demise,
saw again Israel rise at a hellish cost for one and all.
The warning, still travels through the aeons of time,
make no territory your own it calls,
but ears are deaf, and eyes blinded to a god long gone.
The struggle, born of usurpation of lands long lost,
sits in paranoid isolation; a tribe of old,
burning with fiery zeal for acceptance and resurrection.
The world, viewing events unfold with mixed emotions,
dumb in the face of horrors constantly recalled,
stands by and waits or helps Armageddon to begin.