I Iconoclast

Some, I suppose, are driven by an angst for a triumph, for victory, to win!

Others by whispers, ghouls, shadows, mirages, a chimera lurking within.

Though besting, beating, defeating, lording over another profits us not,

The glimpse of victory past a brother pushes, pulls, prods quite a lot.

This I know, for I sought, toiled, strived, willed, trudged endlessly for glory.

The peak, the prize, the gift was never the trophy, it’s “living” my own story.

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