Handbook for Explorers 11

When, in time, you come down from the mountain,
You may seem to people to be a god
Or his prophet, gifted to relieve pain;
Or else the vanguard of a horde
Of preachers, who scatter their convictions
Like viruses. You'll just want a few friends
To exchange views with, or find reasons
For another drink. But understanding ends,
Before it has begun. They'll bring you gifts,
Not from kindness, but to compensate
You for the poisonous air that shifts
Across a land, where all are bred to hate.
There's nothing to be done that can deter
Their frantic genius for guile and war.