the warriors of God
    have paint
    under their fingernails
the warriors of God
    carry mandolins

the armory is filled with pitches and color
whispers of the deep Spirit haunt
    brushstrokes and penstrokes and lips
the cavalry are dancers
    twirling their bodies into the streets of war

sweet music!
the impending fiddles
    (a toll of bombs in the distance)
the scrawling impetuous poet
    (a roar of machine gun)
the characters of the play
rising to sacrifice and truth
    (a city, burning to the ground)
the actors cast their broken hearts
    like bread to us poor,
the unruly screams of hope
    cue the raising dead

the warriors of God
    lose sleep perfecting a single word
the warriors of God
    contort their spines
    for an epiphany of gesture

dreamers and excessive lovers of joy!
the Spirit of the deep groans
those orphaned for reckless wonder
    are called pilgrims of light
    and eternal children