A mountain, a range
Carved from
everlasting ages
Did not crumble or wilt
to sand as it shook
from under my feet.
The granite face stood
Like statues
To manifesting
Into the space
around it.
Reminding me, that as weak
As I feel,
Inside of me
is a similar Persistence
Unmovable
From the capricious whim
of man and imbecilic masses who follow.

I will seize your sharp shank from excavators
trying to make me into something I am not.
A woman with equal
rights in the same air
you breathe
With dignity far beyond your pompous attempts
to roil this
robust range
down.
Your facade will crumble
when the mirror knocks
at your midnight door.
Here,
look at yourself.