Dance with Alladin

The clouds are magic.
Painted desert smoke signals
signs of coming trouble.
Thunder blossoms outward.

Bombs dropped all around.
Schools.
Nurseries.
Hospitals.

There is nothing civil
about civil war.
There is no target
too holy or too sacred.

Children are brainwashed
for food and water.
Massive bombs strapped to chest.
Their enemies draped
in armor and bullet proof vests.

For the Arab Spring…
harvest time has come
to a neighborhood near you.
There is terror in all hearts
made real by hacking any side.
By funneling money into
hide explosives and small arms.
Birthing fighter jets.

As always, there never was a plan.
Sabers still rattling on both sides.
As war spreads like a cancer
through the cloud of data mines.

Bombs dropping all around.
Water supplies
Electrical grids
Food supplies hid

Tanks now surround
civilians who have given their
bodies for an idea.
For freedom they lived.

Memes are much harder to kill.
A generation of American
hipsters grow long beards.
Dressing like the enemy’s
whose minds our soldiers
sought to steal.

War will always paint the desert red.
A generation of Americans
soldiers fought and bled.
Now buying homes
in their suburban utopias
led to watch their children
dance in Minecraft worlds.
As the desert children
dance with dreams of Alladin.

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