An unfamiliar sound—sudden awakening,
groggy, but alert,
That innocent, deeper me takes charge,
starts plotting my survival:
That me-in-the-genes’ pure will to live,
still—always—holding tight to life,
Ignores the pain, and prepares to fight,
while I, the alerted, long for peace.
Who would be sneaking up on me?
Who cares enough to threaten my life?
They could have taken what I have,
secure in anonymous night,
And left me dreaming I am they:
young and dangerous and immortal.
A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.