There Will Be No Morning Copy

Your borders are bloody mirages

that expand and contract at the will of the blade

drawn across the back of a people in shadow



We are on the ropes,

tasting the blood in our mouths,

mixing with what little hope we have left

as it slides down our throats

constricted by hands of avarice, soft media, oxymorons and military might



How long must we live in the shadow of your wall

that divides our lives, our loves and our hopes?

How long must we live in the daily fear

of returning home to find it gone?



We are refugees in our own land

waiting in hope for the day

when we can walk our own streets



Just because you have the biggest gun

doesn't mean your war is won

Just because you take our homes

doesn't mean our hope is gone

Just because you claim your cause as just

doesn't mean that you're still not wrong

Just because you build a wall

doesn't mean it will last that long



A bullet flies through the head of another ten-year-old boy

who held a rock in his hand against a thirty-ton tank in his people's land