Pride Poem by Rex-mayor Ubini

Pride



You sneak behind
glories of some kind
into a loutish soul,
Like pressured air,
you pump yourself in
claiming every space;

You crane up shoulders;
give breast a ghosted balloon,
And so you name yourself; pride;
How lousy, a dead horse you ride.
But when you are wounded,
you leave a loutish soul useless.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: pride
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