Pride- It Is


Pride is the light of an autumn eve bonfire.
Direct contact promises harm, but
from far enough away, at a comfortable distance-
It is cozy, enshrouding, and enchanting.

It is the polychromatic fragmentation of light through a prism-
It gleams with every shade, tint, and hue imaginable.
It sounds like the vibrating thrum of the heart-
thudding in time with the catches of life.

It is a strobe light at a midnight party-
Distinct and bright and intoxicating.
It’s a firm palm held against your own, fingers entwined with yours-
Leading you through shadows once feared and around corners never seen.

It is the aroma of a burnt out floral candle-
The smoke, flooding into the nostrils and inciting spiritual infusion.
It tastes like tart strawberry creme with silky white chocolate-
Velvet on the tongue, satin against the throat, suede in the stomach.

Pride is lugging weary, leaden limbs through dreary, dead-end days.
It’s inhaling every breath as if it’s both the first last and the last first.
It’s setting fear ablaze and bathing anew beneath dusk’s sunset.
Pride is the light of an autumn eve bonfire.

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