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SON OF PRIDE, by Meghan Dwyer
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SON OF PRIDE, by Meghan Dwyer.

Down in a deep and lonesome pit
Where the sun you cannot see
Lurks a hiding, brooding corpse
Yet content he seems to be.
His only comfort and company
Twirls a small pool at his side.
Various names his many masks bear
But his brow reads "Son of Pride".

Round and round he stirs the pool
With hands and figure so small
But in the widening, rippling mirror
A steady man stands firm and tall.
Ne'er he questions the fine sight
For he fancies what he sees.
Rarely elsewhere thus he glances,
Never looking beyond the trees.

"Who wishes to see this image?" says he
So from the hole doth emerge his head.
Though many a sprite be dwelling near
Never toward him e'er they tread.
Thus their magic they humbly return to,
Which the creature doth never praise.
Still he rises from the deep
But only for gaining their gaze.

They pay no heed to his flaunting
So in their direction his fists then swing.
Swiftly away the sprites thus flee
Though bruised and with tattered wing.
A stream only they bequeath him,
Stiller than the quietest well.
His truest reflection he then espies
But believes it's but a sprite's spell.

The nomad scoffs at the stream's display
But the hideousness somehow he fears.
A closer look he takes but still
Knows not the water's made from tears.
The new figure he hates all the same,
So kicks it with a violent fit.
But wet the stream grew 'neath his feet.
He slips back to his well-known pit.

Down in a deep and lonesome pit
Where the sun you cannot see
Lurks a hiding, brooding corpse,
Yet content he seems to be.
His only comfort and company
Twirls a small pool at his side.
Always he remains by the ripples,
This solitary Son of Pride.

GENRE: Dark















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The Pond, by David Childers