3.20

I hold council, war council, in the innermost chambers of my heart.
The fight has broken out, and you have launched first strike.

Will, adamant and valiant, stands guard.

(You are by no means a perfect combatant)

Peace, a word spoken in a silent room, has no place.

(You have irreparably revoked his reign)

Fear, a friend no closer than a wary man's enemy, asks if

you are truly a cogent choice.

Groaning, a nameless warrior wishes to close the distance.

(You wait for him, knowing too well his lust-ache and self hate)

And just when the marshaled forces of my fortified mind

are clad in crystalline armor, shining glint of unrivaled poise,

Just when the bristling barricade has caught the lurking shadows

and wrestled them into shapes fantastic and obscene,

Just when the war is placed upon my head

and the fight upon my brow,

Trust, last loosed and least loved of my captains,

opens the door

to let you in.

I owe you to Trust, and my kingdom with you,

for in him is balm to soothe any sin.

Wherefore do I deserve such treasure?
No, it is none but Trust--a shared virtue.