The Desecraters (Addressed To The I.D.F) Poem by DM W

O the desecraters of humanness,
Grip tightly to their guns and hoist their flags;
With prescribed, 'God given' authority.
Yet they only rule over the chaos and
Decay they have cynically created.
Their marching songs are just discordant shrieks,
As they wage constant war against Mercy.
On the streets, the brutish mercenaries,
Are a mirror of the general malaise.
As they bark out their crude monosyllables,
They are fuelled by hatred and hysteria.
They're a phalanx of search lights & barbed wire.
Their covenant's broken and dishonoured.
O they have turned justice into wormwood;
Their ancient crowns of beauty into ashes.
They shall be mere carriers of water.

O the desecraeors of the spirit,
Believe in the laws of their great nation.
They employ religion for their own ends.
And emphasise its empty rituals.
Unlike Jacob, they do not wrestle with
Their angels. In time they will decompose
Behind their masks; their flimsy deceits and
Rigid uniforms. They coldly want
Generations of ‘lesser' beings to
Pay for their exodus in the wilderness.
Their paranoia strikes at the heart of love.
They present a picture to the waiting world
Of a pure, glorious and noble land;
Poisoned by the ‘illegitimate' other.
O the truth seems to be lost in translation,
And endlessly mired in mythologies.