Armor

I am here now, sheathed in 

armor of my own design and hand

thickest over the heart.

Part of me walks freely, taking in

summer sights, feeling the breeze,

idly considering the stars.

Another part of me is in the hole,

solitary, bullied by a guard who shares

my features of face and manner, backed up

by a corps of anxieties, obsequious 

and pleasing to authority, ready to step up

a rank due to their efficiency and skill.

Somehow the line between warrior and worrier

has blurred, one little vowel sound separates them,

but who is it before you now, 

and how do you know?