Palestine

Just a free form poem - that I tried to write without thinking about it too much.

Palestine

 

Limited to nothing

Pushed out into space

Turning heads

And hydrofoils

It’s lacking in its scope

The daisywheel is turning

Parabellums in the sky

The portent signs are showing

All we do is question why?

 

O little scrape of Bethlehem

Across the falling hill

O let the battle once commence

For just one dollar bill

And when the old men tell their tale

Of woebegone and back

We’ll hear the sad sad stories

Of the days the smokestack spat

Author's Note

Be happy to hear and constructive criticism and comments.