Wormtongue or Strider

When duty requires action
Compelling me to endure
The presence of that demon,
Up to no good, I’m sure,

I breathe deep and draw in strength
To do, for the one in need
Those things which will, at length,
Display my care, by deed.

So I stifle the towering rage
That broils in my soul
Begging to slip its cage
A blind, destructive troll,

And I beg a quiet benediction
that the sound of my deeds be heard
Over the poisonous whisper
Of that demon’s seductive word.

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