Armani Pride

Armani, sir, don’t you mind

The scales underneath the silk—

My tongue is worth a hundred souls,

My pen a thousand more.

The world, my throne, self-carved—

I think mere mortal knowing

Might yet be deigned to see

Some tracest memory

Of wealth, innumerable, that lies

Within this fairest grace.

Before the pride, yet rides The Fall,

One-winged angel recompense

With Hell and Fire resolute

This passion, wild, divine

Will never bow nor know

Another master but its own—

Smile through the pain,

For you and thee are nothing but

This maddened laughter spouts

From believer, knower, all.

Cast me down, you break me down,

It is of your own pathetic drives—

Kill it, beat it, des-e-crate it,

Such a base begotten crave

Of jealousy, and raunched salivation

Of those below the knowing

Of this manicured salvation—

All I need, the dollar, plastered

Forming yet eternal

The foundations of my history.

* Another poem for the wonderful Monday Poetry Potluck, as hosted by Jingle Poetry, and those lovely poets Amanda and Kavita! The theme this week: the Seven Deadly Sins! Lust was appealing, I must admit, but then pride came along in mind, and low and behold, these words sprouted–hope you enjoy.

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