Dialect

I listen to the breeze for answers
to this incessant vengeance from backyard to border -
anger that festers with ferocity
against attempts to annihilate the Spirit;
attempts that lay bloody and strewn across the centuries,
enshrouded in promises;
dialects - of Peace, and atrocities never to be repeated.

Yet, as memories fade,
the graves insidiously multiply,
those words buried to rot in the earth with generations passed.

Those words of Peace –
doomed as they were formed
from the interpretation of texts bound with indoctrination,
- religious dyslexia.

Those words of Peace -
dipped into wells of black,
stick on the tongues of those
whose foreheads and palms perspire
with revenge, fear and the anticipation of expanding power.

Those words of peace composing sentences of death,
dialects from ignorance,
are now being rejected
by those who listen to the breeze
and hear the mournful cries from the graves
of those who had no words,
only tears.