I sat on my back porch awaiting some snow,
Something white and cold for the wind to blow,
I watched him come strolling to my back gate,
Barging through for invite he did not wait.
A bible as a shield and pen for sword
Came petitioning about things unheard,
Windmill dragons of imagined evil,
Tired rhetoric was all he did spill;
Wanting me to add to the list of names,
What good it would do he could not explain.

I sent him on his way to the next place,
With his ghostly list of unreal allies,
Another warrior striving for grace,
Taking names while the victims he’d help cry