Seasonal Thoughts Upon Reading
A History of the Near East
by Steven Argyle
Christmas, 1983
An evening in the spring upon the hills
Of Judah. Peace reigns, at least for tonight.
Jerusalem sleeps soundly 'neath a sky
About to ring with anthems of angels
Rejoicing at the birth of Messiah.
Forgotten now, for the moment, are swords,
The sickles that have reaped this land to stubble
Again and again. Forgotten are the names
Of terror: Philistines, Assyrians,
Sennacherib, and Nebuchadnezzar.
And, tonight, the terror of the names of
Herod and Golgotha has yet to come.
An evening in the summer on the hills
Of Judah. The peace that reigns is the still
Repose of death. The sacred prize is won,
The slaughter finished, the heathen destroyed.
Crusaders, weary from the work of war,
Sit horses fetlock deep in Moslem blood
That flows like water through the streets of that
Most Holy City. Distant cousins, these,
The Sons of Abraham are they as well
As are the Jews. And Christ. And as the sun
Goes down upon this glorious day, the Turks,
Three more Crusades, and more, are yet to come.
An evening in the cold upon the hills
Of Judah. Winter now, but not a trace
Of snow. Peace reigns, at least within ten miles
Of Old Jerusalem. But not far north,
In Hiram's land, the Sons of Jacob grip
Their guns and watch while Moslem slays Moslem
And Christians kill them both. And all around
The vultures in the form of nations wait
To fight for what remains. The home of Him,
The Prince of Peace, has known naught else but war
In all the intervening centuries
Since He was born. And Peace has yet to come.
[Steve notes, "Today, nearly twenty years after I wrote this poem, the situation in Israel is not substantially different.
This poem is my one attempt at writing in classic blank verse."]