Going Ballistic.
By H. Friedman.o
Airplanes are flying over our homes,
Intercepting missiles, rockets, and drones.
Large swarms of terror are heading our way.
Nine hours to countdown,
war games that we play.
I try sleeping, I do, but my eyes stay ajar.
I see ballistic arcs incoming from afar.
I say a prayer to God,
the God that we share.
The serpent prays too,
the hopes donāt compare.
I pray for life, my kids, for
peace, and for calm.
The serpent wants power, to force, and to bomb.
Allies are standing with us to assist.
They help to defend while our army persists.
But in fighting the serpent, we are alone.
The Allies are scared, ābe carefulā they intone.
Donāt anger the serpent, donāt wake up his friends.
Letās talk, letās converse, blah blah to no end.
In the darkest hour, in the fear and the chill.
Do we face the serpent? Can we be Churchill?