by: Vicki Sue Parker
What I want to know
Is this:
If I walked towards
A mirage long enough
Will it grow weary?
If I stand a
Decent chance
Of survival,
I will stop declaring defeat.
I will arm my young soldiers
With the edged shards
Of my image,
And hunt down
My identity,
With the glint of my sword.
Scraping along the floor
Of subsistence,
The enemy of my life
Waits to be conquered.