Age Will Not Weary Them, Nor Will Condemn Them the Years
Civilians pay a staggering cost for the violence
Outside the sun is hot, and the world glares upon the innocents. Song has left our lips — laughter gone from our voices.
Within the quiet room, I think of the unsuspected, asleep peacefully in their beds to be awakened by evil and death. This is not war.
This is slaughter.
Are we the masters of our faiths, designed by our will? Not when darkness lurks at our doors, justified and cloaked by excuses and a rationale intended for death and destruction.
Israel a mother to her children
Time will not let them grow old, as we are left behind:
Age will not drain, nor the years judge them.
At the sinking of the sun and in the morning
We will pledge them to memory…
Babies, children, elderly…all innocent
Israel, a mother to her children,
mourns for her fallen, for her injured.
She mourns for the flesh of her flesh, bone of her bones.
For the spirit of her spirit,
