The Fight

With a battering ram strapped to my forehead,

I push through the glistening walls of the great cathedral.

But for what?

Has this victory won me anything of value?

After all, the war has already been won by my adversary,

And this stub in the toe is no big loss to him.

My screams in the darkness win me no favors,

Gain me no pity, although he may shed a tear.

Shall I continue to throw stones through stained glass windows,

Knowing I am only hurting those I love and who love me?

Whom am I fighting, anyway, if not myself?