Donned in a palette of truest design
My colours are lovely, as even He finds
Yet I haven't returned to prattle the obvious
Even after such overzealous cockiness.

He speaks of my hate like a kindred spirit
How sad that his words hold so little merit
I'd be flattered in any other circumstance
Yet this isn't a game, no, not even a dance.

Ideology, my dearest unfriend, is yours
A title I'd not tote for all of the world
None have the freedom to threaten us all
No? Then why do you there have the gall?

If you were bad, why you'd truly be nasty
Burning down villages is not for the crafty
I refuse you, not Creation, misguided sycophants
You'd see that if you'd pull your head from your..

Oh dear, oh me...OH MY! I was almost crass!


Penned by my hand on the 10th of Chronos, in the year 644 AF.