The Fanatic

The fanatic raises his weapon high
Making the blood sacrifice of his faith
The bare chested woman's husband his blade
Drew the blood of; the infidels are nigh

His every thought. "Pay back the sins in blood---
"All the dead, be the propitiation!
"The alter of soil; alter of stone
"Drip the blood of the dead infidel's sons."

The saints of his religion pick up the
Wounded upon the street, those he had killed.
They balm them with the oils, wrap sterile 
Gauze across burned visage. For their religion was love.