Faith: one motive, a solitary pebble,
minuscule in size, enormous in spirit,
burning the demon’s evil plot;
where disloyalty to self’s morals
crumbles like the Twin Towers,
the disrupted chariot as horses
break away from dishonorable man handlers’ clutches.
Faith, usually disbelieved of its superpowers,
sweeps the mess made, replacing with a new rose vase;
Faith’s kryptonite, Fear: what of you?
Shoo, you scoundrel of impurity!
In an empire of superior sparkling wine,
warriors armed with their own bottle caps
rage in fireworks upon declaration of battle.
Opponents: the town of stale bread,
fighters whipping their own hard crusts
in retaliation embellished with pride but
lacking in true strength.
Spunky liquid prevail among the soft,
spineless solid, the instant Faith’s weakness
shatters to shards of glass.