The Winner

I hear a child inside
Crying to be let out.
“No,” shouts the swaggering Self,
“Mind must destroy all doubt.
Doubt shall not interfere—
Stifle that treacherous word!
I have high deeds to do
Twirling my deathly sword.”
Mind’s on his mettle now
Deft at his surgical art
Stunning my pain with pain
Drowning my infant heart.