The Story of the Generations
By Toni Thrasher
An old man
Stands on a cliff
Five thousand years ago,
Looking over the land that was now ours.
He buys it for forty shekels and he calls it home.
This is the story of the generations.
Twenty-four years old,
With dark adolescent eyes,
He knows the meaning of suffering.
With a number on his arm
And a hope in his heart,
He fights for his children’s children
Whom he would never know.
As he looks to the sky, he says
"This is the story of the generations."
A green shirt, green pants, and a pair of boots.
Eighteen years old, but she feels sixteen inside.
How she would love to hang out with her friends,
But not today.
Her daddy always said she would make a great soldier.
She puts her coal-black hair in a ponytail while she waits
For her future to come down the road.
The story of the generations.
Fifteen killed in yesterday’s bombing.
Today they’re being buried
Meters from each other.
Best friends, a family, and a young girl.
None of them saw it coming.
Nobody stopped it.
Hardly anyone outside of Eretz Yisrael cared.
The story of the generations.
Two years later
A girl is waiting for the plane to land
On the wet pavement.
Night has fallen outside
As the hopeful child looks out of the window.
Her parents wait for her on the ground below.
It is her first time out of her old country,
But she is here to stay.
She steps off the plane and kisses the ground below her.
And her parents take her to her new home.
This is the story of the generations.
Copywrite © 2004 Toni Thrasher
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