So How Much Can you Rely on Your Top Soldiers?

Top team...let's face it, the equivalent of the SAS or US SEALS...drop onto a vessel...with night vision...to be met by metal bars and chairs and sticks and anger....from non-soldiers....civilians. Angry civilians, but civilians...

And they shoot ten dead.

And they reckon the rest of the world is mistaken and we don't understand them...and we should realise that sending aid and food to people they hate is wrong...so it's okay to shoot dead at least ten volunteer aid workers...(no doubt transformed into Arab terrorists by Benjy's friends as we speak).

Is there something we are not getting? (Apart from using forged British passports...ooohhh...all of a couple of months ago...to shoot some more dead...?)

If the UK and Northern Ireland can do it and move forward...then you bloody well can.
If the IRA and the British Government can halt the bloodshed, you bloody well can.
If Sinn Fein can be tolerated and accepted (even though many find this hard and difficult) in UK Government, then you bloody well can.

Chip...shoulder....speak volumes here.
When is Israel going to realise it just can't rule the world?
No matter what happened in Roman times...
no matter what happened in The Merchant of Venice...
and no matter what happened in the dreadful, despicable Holocaust...pre and post...

You can't build on the land of the world in the same way you build on the land you call yours...but actually isn't right now.

Wake up,sit up, smarten up,
How can we respect you when you behave like this?

You are behaving as badly now as your oppressors of Nazi Germany.

Be as dignified as your forefathers; that is why they are respected, famous and admired.

The Concrete Wall

Towering over the consumed land,
Its shadow falls.
Crushes.

Hard and tall.
No face.
No skin.
All seeing
Eyes.

Hard and brittle
Crumbling retina.
Detached.
Blind.

Hope upon the water.
Walking upon the water...

The Promised Land
Drowned
Her.

Where is David?
To take the Israeli Goliath
Down?

Hungarian Ark

Listening to his silence is hard.
Touching and remembering is plaguing my head.
Always; always I remember and it is my curse, jarred.
I try to forget and now Kasztner is there, documented...
making me see red.

I do this.
I try not to and usually I succeed.
Usually it's an ice maiden that feels the need
shares her greed,
never takes heed...
But sometimes, sometimes...
I do this,

I envelope the mind of the man,
I capture his voice,
I carry his words
Inside my swirling head
consuming my loud and colourful pictures
that remember not only the sanctuary of our bed,
but all that was said...

It is there.
Weeping and dancing and shouting.
It is there.
Intricately inside my head.
© Prettyintelligentprincess