In Tatters

this is the weakest form
of me
needy, pathetic

I hate it like this
the mad emotional scramble
when what I need
is out of my control

I am reduced
to tatters
a valiant knight no longer

I am a beggar
fighting my own doubts and fears
when I used to fight
her dragons

standing in this forest
straining to see
beyond the trees of my own needs
the outline of her tower
I am little more
than a shadow
of who I wish to be

Don McGonigal
September 2004