Please Tell Me

Please tell me….

What does it look like to win?

Ideology can’t be defeated on the battlefield,

No matter how you try you can’t kill it.

You can kill its adherents,

Destroying the body, but their hate lives on.

Containment is decried as weak,

Nothing short of all out war satisfies the hawks,

Annihilation of everyone and everything their only answer.

So then, please tell me…

What does the enemy look like?

Muslim?

Dark skinned?

Light skinned?

Man?

Woman?

Child?

Young?

Old?

Sounds like the faces of the innocent and the guilty.

Can you please tell me…

How will you know your foe?

They will not come at you waving a flag.

They will not march upon your positions in perfect high-step.

They will not be clothed in matching uniforms,

Blaring their trumpets and saluting.

So tell me again…

Who is the enemy?

The farmer?

The shopkeeper?

The mechanic?

The soldier?

The school teacher?

The Imam?

The mother?

The father?

The child?

Would you have us kill every living thing just to make your point?

You rhetoric says that you would!

Someone please tell me…

What does it look like to win?

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

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Complicit Are They

Complicit are they

Brandishing their mighty swords

While crying for war

They hold the blade to our necks

Prepared to slaughter skeptics

Monsters, murderers

A mess of their creation

Denied as fiction

How short the memory is

When the Right can blame the Left

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

Teetering On The Brink

Teetering on the brink–again;

War-hawks sounding their alarm

Like the boy who cried wolf.

Prodding the populace with fear

As if they and they alone can foretell the future,

This is always their way.

They act as if violence on our soil is inevitable,

That we must strike first

Before the boogieman gets us in our sleep.

What is the endgame?

The objectives are muddled at best

Causing more harm than good.

Blaming the other side for inaction

Is their way of shifting focus,

And we believe time-and-time again.

All while their silken pockets are lined with gold

For their them and their friends.

Death is an industry like any other;

Capitalism at its finest

And we feed into their vile fare.

Rallying behind their hate and ignoring their greed

They hide behind the guise of patriotism;

O’ how blind and oblivious we are.

There is no dispute,

Barbaric acts of murder are despicable.

There is no death that can be condoned or celebrated,

Especially of the innocent.

Is this an act of war?

They are not a country.

They are not a government.

They are nothing, but criminals and murderers,

Treat them as such!

Yes, there is evil in this world!

Yes, there is a time and place for action,

But the motives must be clear,

The end must be solidly defined

And the cause must be just.

 

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~