Doubt

there is a worm that infests
this valley, that fen.
he eats the hearts of those who dwell there,
consuming always first the men

but that worm I will take in hand
and make him obediant to the lords of the land.
on that line, that line you drew,
on that cool sand, on that line, from you,
I'll make my stand

For now that I know, where my feet they may go,
and know beyond wonder where my hands they may wander,
and am told, without miss, just what I might kiss,
there is no question of quest left now in my chest
So that worm, he is dead, as he's lost all his dread.

for Doubt is a demon of lies,
and general reaking putressence.
but swift is the sword of certainty,
stripping his life of its essence.

down to the dirt will he fall,
and though hardly made of naught,
as the worms' life is done,
he will finally do what he ought,
the twists of his being undone,
he will meet the God he fought.

And we left in peace,
to enjoy the sweet release,
to find a sweet respite,
our foe out of the fight.
Maybe a bit of coast
to do what we like most,
to linger far and free,
and with each other be.