The Poet

Growling and growling in its lair,
The lamb does not fear the lion.
Things fall apart; the center does not hold.
The master fears the slave,
As chaos rules the land.
A hairy beast with hands of steel
Throbs home to rest.

White hooded rapists plunder through the night,
Only to whimper and scurry from your wild vendetta.
As a rugged bronze beast,
Shod with plow and gun,
Toils the soil from dusk to dawn,
Burrowing and furrowing through rusty red clay
To drain his sweat down upon our scorched land.

Fear not, towering gods of tyranny!
From what barren and distant shores,
Caverns far and empty, shall
Crawl forth a hairy beast,
Stone-faced, with a heart of iron.
Oh teeth of iron! Crush the living daemons.
The War of all wars shall end tonight.

To Sam Woods
Man among lions.
Lion among men.