The Stubborn God
Brushing past the wispy ferns
I stand before a stone alter.
Which pagan god requires it
Lest it trip and falter?
I drew my bow with an iron shaft,
Struck the stone and shattered.
That pagan god, strong and possessive
Still refuses passage to me.
I turned my back to this woeful alter
And didn't turn back.
A demonic howl plead to my soul
But as stubborn as he I left.
