The Puffed Up Man Who Doesn't Believe

A solid man, they call him so, 
With bones of anger and pride to show,
More bones than meat he often finds,
And leaves a trail of combative lines.

He spurns the church and shuns the light,
Preferring to sit and type all night,
Posting attacks on all around,
His logic leaps with a hollow sound.

He scorns the Gospel's simple truth,
Insisting on words in his proof,
Belief in Christ, to him, is not enough,
For he demands a precise rebuff.

He sees the saved and lost alone,
And won't accept what's not his own,
His wrath burns hot against all foes,
Leaving a trail of verbal blows.

He glories in his knowledge gained,
But love and joy are things disdained,
He cares not for the fruit of the Spirit, 
Only his intellect, to him, is merit.

He's self-important, full of pride,
Attacking all on the other side,
For he who wears his faith on his sleeve,
Is the puffed up man, who doesn't believe.