The verbal excalibur, faith,
Drawn out of the rock of deed,
Acts an unusual wraith,
To fill the chasm of need.
Without which we would turn to stone.
Like a lava flow black and cold.
The blindfold of being alone,
Would mould the very threshold.
Spears of cruelty, shafted points
Sink deep in the meat of chaos.
Barbs rip the targets anoint
And pin the heart to a cross.
The slice of excaliburs blade,
Will passage the sightless night.
Its act of faith, kills masquerade
And makes the candle grow bright.
The sharp of its edge gifts our goal.
Wield it well and endow your soul.