. . . with acknowledgements to WB Yeats and Biblical canon . . .
Yearning and burning in a maddening ire
the westbank will not heed the politic;
Deals fall apart; the treaties cannot hold.
Teargas mask is worn into the streets,
the rage-dimmed riot is loosed, here and there
the ceremony of negotiation is torched;
the dealers have no persuasion, while the rebels
are full of fired-up intensity.
Some new negotiation is perpetually at hand;
surely the second drumming is at hand
as dissenters thrust their ire upon the streets
while our imagined urim of mideast peace
crumbles every now and then, again, again,
And signed intent once again is bent
to pathetic riot in westbank streets,
‘cuz discontent, predictable as levantic sun
moves its riotous claws to dismantle what's been done,
as skirmishes between these ancient tribes
cast shadows o’er our peacenik vibes.
Oh! That forty-one centuries of tribal strife
could be laid to rest in a rocking cradle!
When prince of peace, his Bethlehem phase done at last
descends to Olivet, with peace that lasts!
You may say that I'm a dreamer,
but I'm not the only one!
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