Fear was a thing to which he was unaccustomed
In its raging waters he rarely drowned
The enemy stood just beyond the gates
Like mountains that could never be climbed
They stared like spears before the city walls
As if their spears were another pair of eyes
The fetal warlord could barely speak
Against such a joust of enemies
II
Who swiped his voice like a ball of dough?
Who parched in the sand such a verdant voice?
In the morning wakened like a servant, like
A fear injected into his bloodless faith
His fears turned Zion into an empty sack
As he felt for the first time the hand of war
And as it touched him and pressed on his skin
What he felt became a part of him