A warrior who declines to fight

needs counsel.

So, he confides in his friend, his trusted charioteer.

“Tell me what I should do?

I see my family, friends, and rulers before me.

My job calls me to slaughter them.

My calling is to love my neighbors,

love my father, brothers, cousins, and mothers.”

The blue one regards his champion,

index finger to chin,

consternation narrowing his eyes.

“Your calling is to fight when there is battle.

You are not God.”

But the warrior was not convinced.

“How can I know God’s will in this war?”

And so the purple one turned his insides out,

vomited all time and space, evil and divine,

like a carnival house of mirrors,

showing the truth, the unknown,

and the couldn’t possibly be known.

After, the warrior fell to his knees,

nauseous,

afraid,

beaten,

shaken, and

persuaded.

“I will fight.”

And it was bloody but for the best.