They advance across flowered fields of hope,
crushing the lovely, quivering, petals of life.
Compelled by their ancestral holy-warrior blood,
as ancient as the devil’s purpose, they follow
their grotesquely evil marching orders – their
narrow intention to make us theirs – or should that fail,
to murder us. It is their holy song of death.
But do not quake in their presence nor be enticed by
their glory words. For inside their tortured vision of hate
lay the seeds of their own destruction. Without sentient,
caring hearts, they cannot know us or measure our strength.
Feel strong in their presence for they advance toward
their inevitable defeat as they march toward the
seductive, open arms of death. For greater dreams than theirs
shall meet and defeat them on these lovely, innocent fields of hope
and they shall be turned away once more by greater warriors,
our courageous defenders of all free people, everywhere.
Copyright 2007 Robert McKinley
All rights reserved