As the follower sheep,
Send forth their crooked emissaries.
To bend the goodness,
with a sinister sickening voice
I fold my arms,
Inside my head,
And stare you down.
My eyes will burn.
My look will unsettle.
The more you try,
The more resistant I become
To following you.

You may hold your belief dear,
And it may comfort you.
But know this, If it comforted me,
I would be by your side,
And not opposite You.
Showing the wrath of the proselytised.