Lebanon

The cedars are weeping, my friend, my friend.
Your great cedars of Lebanon bow in grief.
Their growth is stunted by a drought of peace.
Their roots scream for the killers to leave.

Away with the Persian!

Away with the Syrian!

Away with the Hebrew!

Oh cedars, great cedars of Lebanon.
Do you remember the days?
Remember the days where we walked
hand in hand along the shore
our toes buried in the sand?

Remember the beauty of our face
how the sun rose in the east
shined upon our face,
sparkled on our sea like diamonds in our hands?

Sun set west behind our boughs
along the cliff's edge
and doves nested with us in placid
needled nests upon the ground.

Oh cedars, my cedars of Lebanon,
let me lay my blanket, spread a banquet
for all to come again
to laugh
to love
to smile
to walk in your softness
to remind us of your beginnings
your strength
your truth
the way you point your fingers to heaven.

Oh cedars of Lebanon,
let them fight war over another lover
in another time
in another place
far away.

Let them bash their children on foreign, barren land.
Let their blood dry on another's border.
Let their hate be swallowed up by unseen seas.
Let them be quenched there.
Let the vultures pick them clean
and make a sign of their bleached bones.
saying, no more. No more.

Oh cedars, great cedars of Lebanon,
weep for me,
as I watch your destruction.

Written by Charlie Southerland
Posted with his permission.

Lebanon

Phoenician Cedar wood boats
set sail exporting
the Alphabet to the unknown.
Orange groves on the shore line
await their return withstanding the test of time
backed by a stronghold of olive mania
on the foot of the easternmountain range.
Canaan tradition still lurks
amidst the Mediterranean sunset
stretching between Byblos and Tripoli.
Tyre still unsacked
stands tall jutting, hugging
the waters, calling out
to Sidon's gods
"Come, remember our glory?"
Baalbek sends a dashing salute
to Beirut.
Witness to all she stands:
crusades, transits,
ever lasting attempts
to rule the land.