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.