A desolate land with its rivers of sand
that would burn ‘neath Arabian sun
was the crown for a jewel that was needed for fuel –
made the cars and the factories run.

But the tribes didn’t brood for the oceans of crude
that would lie in the pockets below –
since they harbored no need, they were quick to concede
when the West brought their mountains of dough.

Plans would be laid and agreements were made,
while the land became dotted with steel –
and the oil that would rain left a permanent stain
that the sand could no longer conceal.

Petroleum poured from a land once ignored,
while the sand became bricks and cement,
and a once-hidden prize would give way to a rise
that a few there would come to resent.

The greed of the west would in time come to rest
on a culture once mired in mystique –
and the wealth would balloon from the Texas tycoon
to the coffers of Sultans and sheiks.

Cities and towns sprouted up from the ground
that was once merely desert and rock –
and a lot of them thrived when the tankers arrived,
taking barrels abroad – ‘round the clock.

Though some would embrace the material-chase,
there were others who stuck to their core –
and a radical few thought the difference in view
was a cause for sectarian war.

The violent intent from religious dissent
once again cast its shadow on man –
and the peaceful pursuits turned to rifles and boots
when a line would be drawn in the sand.

Rebels would form and a movement was born
with a hatred for those in the west –
then bombs in the road would be set to explode,
while some others were sewn to a vest.

An eye-for-an-eye caused civilians to die
and the sand to be strewn with debris –
while the copious dead from the drones overhead
were the only one’s bound to be free.

Seasons would pass like the sand through the glass
and the tensions continued to grow,
but despite all the cost and the lives that were lost –
in the end there was little to show.

The west had their fill of the blood that would spill,
it was time for their brave to return,
and it all fell apart when the troops would depart –
it’s a lesson we can’t seem to learn.

The force we exert in attempts to convert –
make the east look the same as the west,
stirs the passions that fuel the perpetual dual –
and ensures that the sands never rest.