Holy War

Swiftly he speaks with cutting wit,
And pries their premise from under.
Yet briefly considers his terrific fit,
Still tearing courtesy asunder.
Carries the torch of pious mind,
Pandering judgment and grace.
When finally another of his kind,
Reveals a pugnacious face.
"Fight it!", he thought of whom is called the beast,
Of licentious dragon's teeth.
To slay that monster would be at least,
A righteous and glorious deed.
A deed undarkened the mind to the soul,
And knowing exactly what spirit,
Where from he speaks and ego pulls,
And why the acceptance to hear it.
By Evan Gunn Wilson