The malice of all evil is unwell,
An illness of the soul that seems like hell
Yet is no work of devil, spright or fiend
But of a psyche fetid and uncleaned,
For evil’s not defeated or endured;
It’s malady, not foe, and must be cured.
The way to do so is not fight or flight
But leading malefactors to the light.
What’s bent in them or broken must grow whole,
And love, not punishment, shall cure the soul.