Warriors

Surrender, or fight to the death

The devil cries at the top of fiery lungs

To the people in the valley below

They are poorly clothed, hardly fed

And unable to muster a half-night’s rest

Knees wobbly, palms sweating

Armed with pots, pans, and marred limbs

Hardly enough to repel a dog

Never mind a legion of harlequins

All foaming at the mouth for blood

Another shot at life, another chance

For redemption in the eyes of master

To kill is life, to murder is to be reborn

And at the sound of thunderous horn

They charge down the slopes, wailing

Banging swords, brandishing heavy iron tools

Anything to make bone into blood

It is here where I stand

In the middle of death and light

Clinton and Trump

Korea and America

Plastic and sustainability

Abortion and Life

Armed with my mind, matter is recreated

With the thought, and my hands document

The rearranging of universal matter

And I watch the ensuing battle

Both sides fight with strength

Greater than their numbers would suggest

And both are valiant but flawed

Both are condemned to damnation

If they continue in their ways

I should step in

I should alter the course

But I will never be your shining knight

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