'Beware the Warrior Poet' Poem

Beware the warrior poet, for none are as deadly as he.

His power comes not from the frailty of the male ego,
nor is his strength sourced from the poisoned ambitions of the tyrant.
It is not the waxing and waning rage of the embittered that drives him,
and even still, it is not a bloodthirsty love of war.
No, the warrior poet is fueled by the unquenchable fires of love.
Those who know him would call him a lamb;
Those who have fought him would call him a lion.
And those who have studied him would call him a scholar.

Beware the warrior poet.
He stands equipped as God’s special instrument to bring justice;
his heart of faith sings “Blessed be the Lord, my rock,
who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.”
He stands on principle.
As a romantic idealist, the warrior poet stands alone,
and unblinkingly dares to do what others declare impossible.

Beware the warrior poet, who speaks of war as an art to be felt,
and a science to be studied.
He is ready to die, and take an army of enemy with him –
and he constantly makes quiet plans toward this heroic end.
Beware the Warrior Poet for he can never die-
The Perfect Soldier, the Ancient of Days.