A carnivorous beast lies pitted deep inside.
It devours its prey, gorging till it subsides.
Living in the heart of man, this beast doth reside.
It stalks upon carnal thoughts yet to betide.

A reincarnate knight seeks a kingdom of glory.
To vanquish the beast: his reoccurring story.
Oft' has the beast left the field torn and gory.
Yet, the knight strives for resplendent victory.

Fanfare pierces the soul; the champion sheathes his sword.
Returning to his dais, the knight returns as lord.

The ember extinguishes,
Imposing darkness.
The pyre's carcinogen
ushers him to move on.

The fragrance teleports him:
Childhood bonfires,
Burning cities,
The end of civilization.

Burn it all down!
So much is lost.
From the fires of rebellion,
regression into tribes.

Among the ashes,
he finds a charred Bible
and quickly hides it.
Demoniacal wailing nearby.

He hurries to his bivouac,
hidden in a cliffside crevasse.
He devours the legible words,
diligently memorizing fragments.

A far off explosion reverberates;
pinned up book pages quake.
He mumbles “***** and Gomorrah
… to ashes … the ungodly.”

Feebly he undresses:
jacket with phoenix insignia,
tattered baseball cap,
and military boots.

His eyes, deeply sunken,
craving to espy hope.
His quivering emaciated frame
lowers unto a cot.

Laying his hoary head to pillow,
Phrases, memories, and regrets
accompany him to the celestial gates;
the ember extinguishes.

Tolerance seems kind;
guised, it's apathy malign,
silently we pine.

A monolithic sculpture stands upon a hill.
Ornate work of marble marks the artisan’s skill.
Clad as a knight of yore, with stony gaze held high.
Pilgrims travel from miles around to fall under his eye.

Epitome of courage, virtue, and respect
effused upon the villagers traits they should reflect.
Elements gnawed at the stone but failed to corrode
the manifold of lofty aims the knight would bestow.

Dark years beset the kingdom causing disarray-
Tyranny, vanity, and deceit led the people all astray.
Artisan's work above, a shining icon of probity.
A resolute bastion against the world’s impulsivity.

A day will come when the people reach distress;
crying out, they beseech the artisan’s redress,
but long has the craftsman been journeying far away
humbly allowing his handiwork, the message he conveys.

I long for solitude;
The day's barking tyrants
Drained my reservoir.

Thirsty for life,
I search for my oasis
On life's arid expanses.

I witness the crucifixion;
I watch firefighters burn books;
I can't resist the sirens' call.

The ionizing words mutate me;
I read, and I'm pierced.
The tyrant's visage, shattered.

Alight from your throne,
reeking of superiority.
Cast the first stone!
It no longer bothers me.

Spewing impotent venom,
your willfully caged mind,
conditioned, doped, benumbed,
cradled ideology; you're blind.

Let us meet as equals.
A dialogue must be fanned,
or the cycle of upheaval
will regress the promised land.