Thursday, August 14, 2014

Looking back

Pretending to chase an enemy that fled,
I fled the fighting, fooled everybody,
and vanished into jungle foliage,
cutlass aloft, to hack away at
shrubs and snakes and
the imaginary enemy.

Soon I felt, the more I ran
the more I would have to run,
and for what? From what?

Looking back, the enemy is me;
The war is mine.

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