Holy, holy, holy land

Here we choose to make a stand

Holy, holy, holy shit

Desert death is what we get.

 

Ancient past, broken stone

Orphaned children left alone

Bearded men with angry eyes

Generations of patriarch lies

 

Striving for a painful conclusion

Soaked with blood, riddled with delusion

Abraham’s kids negotiate the will

Who will survive? Who must we kill?

 

For Solomon in all his glory

With Sheba could not change the story

Is the battle that we yearn to win

Still about a man’s foreskin?

 

Can we allow faith to enlighten

Or must the scrolls only frighten?

In separating the good from the good

Then the bad survives, as it should

 

As the Nazarene did die

He spoke plainly, addressed the lie

“Your house is left desolate”

Your foolish dreams…crushed.

 

For the holy place is anywhere

Where children are spared a nightly scare

And men and women unite in the Son

To boldly live together as one.

Join us on Wednesday for another PoHymn

 

Published by Jonathan Cring