Weighing The Wrongs

When tallying foes in the still of night,

And weighing the wrongs that stir your spite,

Pause your hand, mid stroke of the pen—

For not all battles are fought with men.

That whisper of doubt when you start to rise,

The shadow that dulls your inner skies,

The voice that mocks your dreams' ascent—

These wear your face, yet bear dissent.

You will name the traitor across the field,

But not the fears you have yet to yield.

You will curse the lies another has told,

Yet hush your truth when it feels too bold.

The saboteur with your same eyes

Knows where your deepest weakness lies.

He cloaks his hand in reason’s guise—

He is in your mirror. Count him twice.

For every rival that you may see,

One stands within, just as deadly.

Until he is faced, your wars are vain—

You sharpen swords that turn again.

So when you reckon those who scheme,

Who haunt your steps and steal your dream,

Mark this line in blood, not ice:

When counting your enemies, count yourself twice.