There will be no morning copy

Your borders are bloody mirages
that expand and contract at the will of the blade
drawn across the back of a people in shadow

We are on the ropes,
tasting the blood in our mouths,
mixing with what little hope we have left
as it slides down our throats
constricted by hands of avarice, soft media, oxymorons and military might

How long must we live in the shadow of your wall
that divides our lives, our loves and our hopes?
How long must we live in the daily fear
of returning home to find it gone?

We are refugees in our own land
waiting in hope for the day
when we can walk our own streets

Just because you have the biggest gun
doesn't mean your war is won
Just because you take our homes
doesn't mean our hope is gone
Just because you claim your cause as just
doesn't mean that you're still not wrong
Just because you build a wall
doesn't mean it will last that long

bullet flies through the head of another ten-year-old boy
who held a rock in his hand against a thirty-ton tank in his people's land