They advance across flowered fields of hope,
crushing the lovely, quivering, petals of life.
Compelled by their ancestral holy-warrior blood,
as ancient as the devil’s purpose, they follow
their grotesquely evil marching orders–their
narrow intention to make us theirs–or should that fail,
to murder us. It is their holy song of death.
Yet do not quake in their presence or be enticed
by their glory words. For inside their tortured
vision of hate lay the seeds of their own destruction.
Without sentient, caring hearts, they cannot know us
or measure our strength. Feel strong in their presence
for they advance toward their inevitable defeat as they
march toward the seductive, open arms of death.
For greater dreams than theirs shall meet and defeat
them on these lovely, innocent fields of hope and they
shall be turned away once more by greater warriors,
courageous defenders of all free people, everywhere.