Constantly moving
forward not hiding
the pride that swells,
from dousing flames,
evaporating completely
the vices that consume.
Yet pride is a word
reserved for lions;
who devour the weak.
Casting celebrations
for conquering rancor
I sip the nectar of
victory while dining.
I know better yet
what would burn away
the things which can
conspire against my
progression towards
completeness of a
heart that is delivered
from the agony of that
which would poison it?
If the flames of pride
led me to victory over
the sourness within me
I shall not think myself
more mightier than those
who battle the cold air
in cardboard boxes that
call tribulation a way
to live their lives hungry.
