by John Kolyav

Tourist, see this stained beach in Tripoli
Where one and twenty men were forced to kneel
Ere cutting down their heads by unholy
Fanatics, as god’s servants themselves feel

They are still at large, offer flesh and blood
And mock god by empty prayer, fasting
But their most heinous deeds no wave or flood
Can wipe; sad tale this shore will ever sing.

Who foster them? Think, none else—you and I!
They grow strong daily on our tolerance
O if we take up arms we need not die
And the world for thriving has a fair chance.

Unreasonably heads roll to the sea:
When bigots exist none from threat is free.”

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