Was it Medusa or Delilah?
the incision that distorted his vision,
once tore a lion's mouth when grace abounded,
once so confident, strong and grounded,
now he's like a stray dog that's confounded,
he was once empowered,
but his courage cowered to his affliction,
bold until he gave a foothold,
the slavery of sin himself sold.

Has his heir been cut off he ponders?
lost his source of conviction he wonders?
did he stop taking things day by day,
needing every hour?
Did he let that root grow bitter,
to the point he's tasting sour?

He could've broken down false pillars,
now he feels like an empty salt cellar,
better yet a basket case,
can't recognize his master's face.
betrayed himself so greatly,
put his trust in a chariot,
wore the coat of Iscariot.
He knows the past is not a place to dwell,
but he's reminded by a ceaseless thirst,
the by-product of seeking water from a broken wishing well,
discernment had diminished,
he simply couldn't tell,
slowly but surely,
pride was how he fell.
He tried to build it up again,
but to no avail,
perhaps a case of Ichabod,
has the spirit left his tail,
is it hocus-pocus,
the reason he can't focus?
Less time with fellow ironmen,
more marvelling at unfruitful doctrines strange,
identity issues like Ben Tennyson,
perhaps he's gone insane,
he keeps on going in cycles,
his habits hard to change,
or maybe he has lost the upper hand?
because every time the rain falls and the wind blows,
his house just will not stand.