Cowboys and Indians

I am a composite
of my enemies.
My mind wars
against my soul.
My soul rides bareback
on a newly tamed mustang
while my mind
packs gunpowder
against it
driving it out
to sit among others
of it's kind.
The last of a proud nation
dying
alone
as my ancestors.
Forced back by my own hand
or at least one like it.

My mind, bleached white
by attempts at purification,
roams freely where it will
while my soul
locked in its cage
is to proud to
beat against the walls
and protest
patience is a virtue
my mind will never know.

I am reminded of a game
called Cowboys and Indians
and the way I would always
chose to follow my soul...