BAALBECK, BECHARRE, N’ GALILEE

BAALBECK, BECHARRE, N’ GALILEE
my oft times afore lovely home by the sea.
What! What in the Name is happening to thee,
yet again, yet again, n’ yet again?
Are you rising to be free to be free or free
to be with ever uprising to be?
Fire in the below waiting to explode will show
No mercy to angelic pretence
Turn; turn away from the Gate of Trouble!
Too; too many will be crying in the streets.
Where! Where is that one with the rare empty stare;
that one who with slippery tongue
is playing away with everyone’s naiveté?
Stand n’ take a stand to recline on
a chaise longue of peace.
For so long as length of days be they shorter
than nights by far will the orange groves,
olive slopes, n’ sand dunes be all
frozen o’er in a flash.
Ruins anew will be accompany those of old
at weeping Baalbek, Becharre, n’ Galilee.
Hear ye; hear ye, ye perpetual
troublemakers of the ages!
How came ye by the right to mix bone with limestone,
blood with grape juice, n’ tears with vinegar?
Oh come; oh come away my honey moist heart,
for now is the time for us to depart,
from out of the presence of those
who are with ever-hardening hearts.
Will I be with ever again returning
to this a sacred home of mine? Tell me, will I?
Yes, when days will dawn with brightness once more
upon the Great Sea’s shore,
n’ in middays soft breezes blow upon
the gently rippling waters of Lake Galilee,
n’ in afternoons the snows be with falling white
pure upon the cedar fragrant mountains of Becharre,
n’ in eves ancient Baalbeck will be with finding
herself to be the pride of an even earlier heredity;
yes, finding herself to be one of the sunniest
inland places by the ever-loving Mediterranean Sea.
A Green Desert Father: Philosophical Converse of an Árd Rí of Ireland