A Shameful Sonnet


A Shameful Sonnet:
The day he set me on the great pedestal,
And I was displayed for the mass to see,
The pride inside, too, was ineffable.
The overwhelming mass praised and loved me.
In sudden contrast, east became the west.
The golden pedestal became dull brass.
The beating of his heart soon left his breast.
Sweet love turned saccharine; love from the mass.
I’ll never forget his soft pretty lips.
A burn of alcohol, a deep red wine.
Why suddenly eclipse? He was my quick fix.
Our drive; impossible to intertwine.
Both of us insoluble, yet we bred chaos.
“Quick,” I ask him, “Preach to me who is at fault!”
I, discarded by the mass, what was the cause?
The preacher's words fed the mass revolt.
Poison laced in pride made me arrogant.
He made the rush seem so sweet and divine.
Pride was to be my only detriment.
The mass squabble; clueless and cold; such swine.
All great hierarchies transcend a great fall.
Even then, this didn’t feel like falling.
Pride is a pure, old, stubborn alcohol.
Love the effect, yet hate the swallowing.

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