The truth of it all crashed down
On Benedict, and he wept bitterly.
It was nothing more than a trap for fools…
A trap for fools like him. Rage,
Revenge – these were the currency of fools
Like him, fools like ancient Esau
Who blithely traded all they valued
For a bowl of pottage, a moment of vengeance,
And without a care for their wasted future
Or that of others their folly might curse.
The burden weighed him down, sapping
His strength and his will. He had failed
Those who trusted him. All was lost.
Amid his raging emotions came
A quiet voice – quiet yet piercing:
Then why have you come here, foolish priest?
What did you hope to accomplish here?
Perhaps nothing, he thought to himself.
Perhaps I merely longed to die
But feared to die alone, in shame.
There was no condemnation in that quiet voice:
Fools have been known to change the course of
History, My child. Victory can snatched
From the jaws of defeat only when a fool
Reaches deep into its gaping maw,
Heedless of the danger its fangs pose.
Perhaps the fool dies… but so does the enemy.
The creature thrives by devouring hope.
Clutch yours close to your bosom, warm
And vibrant, and refuse to let it die.
Become the predator, and kill your prey.
Remember that you are not alone.
Then Benedict became aware of a glow
Bursting from his chest, of another fire
Burning within him, its heat consuming
His despair. How could this be?
He had no answer; he simply hoped
And that hope suddenly drove him onward.
Then the hopeful fool within him shocked him
By screaming a challenge at the top of his lungs.
“Chase, you coward! Come and face me!”