Pride
I believe pride is a virtue. We should be proud of ourselves, of the good in us. But there's another kind of pride, as in the seven deadly sins. That's what this poem is about.
Brown crumpled leaf
In an autumn mud puddle
Brittle and old
but weightless
as dust on sunlight
Crosswalks and street signs
are noise
loud and distracting
of little meaning
Clouds move along the sky
with moist grace and fluid movement
but the ground below is dry and cracked
Life comes and goes
while weather and erosion are continuous
Humans kill themselves with self-importance
and their lives
Soft gusts of wind in an endless storm
lose any meaning
They might have had.
In an autumn mud puddle
Brittle and old
but weightless
as dust on sunlight
Crosswalks and street signs
are noise
loud and distracting
of little meaning
Clouds move along the sky
with moist grace and fluid movement
but the ground below is dry and cracked
Life comes and goes
while weather and erosion are continuous
Humans kill themselves with self-importance
and their lives
Soft gusts of wind in an endless storm
lose any meaning
They might have had.
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