The Fight by Joy Harjo

The rising sun paints the feet Of night-crawling enemies. And they scatter into the burning hills. I have fought each of them. I know them by name. From before I could speak. I've used every weapon. To make them retreat. Yet they return every night If I don't keep guard They elbow through openings in faith Tear the premise of trust And stick their shields through the doubt of smoke To challenge me. I grow tired of the heartache Of every small and large war Passed from generation To generation. But it is not in me to give up. I was taught to give honor to the house of the warriors Which cannot exist without the house of the peacemakers.

— An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo (Page 21)