Crusader

She tells filthy lies
Behind people’s back
That work-place rat
That
you can't  trust
Whenever she gets scared,
Full of righteous self-righteousness
Accumulated over years of ignorance,
Needing a crowd to hold her up
As she clings to here protest signs
Like her Christian ancestors
Did torches and pitchforks,
A dark knight hidden in spotless armor,
The kind of which Phil Oachs
Used to sing about as being
Someone you don’t want at your back,
Living in a distorted self-created reality
That allows her to hold noble notions
Her experience cannot justify
A slant so self-perpetuating
That even she has come to believe it
As truth,
Imposing labels on anyone she disagrees with,
Her slogans imprinted on her retina
As if tattoos,
Too scared to stand for anything
Unless she has a mob at her side,
A true crusader determined to save the Holy Land
Even as she tears it down,
A vicious streak running side by side
Down her spine along with a yellow one,
Always scurrying for self-survival
The way any rat might
Abandoning any ideology
That is too inconvenient,
Or anything that conflicts
With her ignorant truths,
Gnawing on other people’s bones
In the shadows
When she has nothing else
On which to feed.