Faith: one motive, a solitary pebble,

minuscule in size, enormous in spirit,

burning the demon’s evil plot;

where disloyalty to self’s morals

crumbles like the Twin Towers,

the disrupted chariot as horses

break away from dishonorable man handlers’ clutches.

Faith, usually disbelieved of its superpowers,

sweeps the mess made, replacing with a new rose vase;

Faith’s kryptonite, Fear: what of you?

Shoo, you scoundrel of impurity!

In an empire of superior sparkling wine,

warriors armed with their own bottle caps

rage in fireworks upon declaration of battle.

Opponents: the town of stale bread,

fighters whipping their own hard crusts

in retaliation embellished with pride but

lacking in true strength.

Spunky liquid prevail among the soft,

spineless solid, the instant Faith’s weakness

shatters to shards of glass.