The package stood in the shimmering night,
as if held fast, in the lunar light.
It's contents were poison to a person like me,
a harness of shackles devoid of a key.
"A gift of faith!" you say with a grin,
but I now of a sweeter hell I'd rather be in.
I accept with remorse, the pacifist's pain,
and take on your troubles with little to gain.
I am meant for better rewards,