The Mighty Viking

Conquering those things we must, one story at a time

Who am I?

Who am I?

You ask me, with a voice so low it is drowned by the distant highway, who I am.

And I cannot say.

I use a thousand words, and smiles, and scowls,

And tell you who I love.

And who I hate.

And yet I cannot tell you who I am.


Who am I?

You ask me, though your lips move through the patterns of other words,

Your questions gently couched in questions of statistics and health.

Your Question sticks to your face, like a fear.

Half afraid I’ll turn out to be different than you.

Half afraid I’ll be the same.


Who am I?

If I told you, you wouldna believe me, you’d say that I’m putting on aires.

And that they do not become me

But aires is who I am, to you and to a thousand others

I cannot be other

I cannot be others

I cannot be anything other than who you say I am


Who am I?

If I lie awake at night, and puzzle at the answer

and at the midnight hour offer up my best guess.

If I fail the test will you turn me out into that dark night?

Will you give me extra credit for effort?

Will you correct me with a blood-red pen?

Will you announce to the world that I have failed?


Who am I?

Who are you? This game we play but never win.

While my answer is shouted down by the sound of the distant highway

Your answer is shouted down by your nature.

And after we both are spent by shouting, when we are reduced to nothing but hoarse whispers

A question only spoken in that tortured voice remains,

Who are we?


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