I am the whisper, subtle and unseen,
A shadow stretching, where goodness has been.
I build my castles on shifting sand,
Demanding tribute from every hand,
A silent monument to what I crave,
A selfish master, a gilded grave.
I stand apart, though surrounded close,
Consumed by self, in the seeds I sow.
We are the bronze-shod feet that do not tire,
The hollow boast that sets the plain on fire;
We crave the field where every loss is gain,
And drink the bitter vintage of the rain.
We are the thirst that no peace can appease,
The roaring mouths that strip the olive trees,
And watch the cities dwindle to a name,
All for the mirrored glory of our flame.
But notice the sunbeam, a delicate gleam,
Piercing the darkness, a hopeful, soft stream.
For even the deepest of shadows can cease,
When the light of awareness brings solace and peace.
The garden can flourish, the ego can cease its reign,
And the self finds connection, again and again.
messages embedded in ornery places
hidden behind stockades of braces
smuggled into enemy territory
theirs, no errands of vainglory
hard-bitten pros, war-wise, discreet
MIA ~ memories of peacetime sweet
Saklas, the fool who within his heart of indulgence
Whispers: “There is no god greater than me”
Coiling and consuming himself in self-indulgence
Isn’t he like that voice in you and me
Samuel, the blind idol who proclaims to the world
Roaring loudly “There is no god but me”
His roars thundering within the cosmic underworld
Isn’t he like that voice in you and me
The serpent begets nothing god-like or natural
The lion just dims light for you and me
Sneaking arrogance and boastful vainglory coiled up as one
Pride, wisdom’s veil and denial of the humble Son
The serpent and lion are coiled up as one, for us to see
Yaldabaoth, the idol of pride and wisdom’s folly
If vainglory were a preacher
It'd resemble a rustic pastor
Lost in how profound his grasp of scripture is
Therefore echoes more of his fervent faith
Than the Creator's boundless might.
If vainglory embodied a nation
It would mirror a union divided
52 pieces striving for cohesion
But only sowing seeds of discord
A world seen as a science Lab for experiments.
If vainglory wore human form
It'd take the guise of godlike leaders
a Trump, a Thatcher; perched on pedestals
Viewing the world as a puzzle to solve
Unaware that forcing fit leads to vanishing
The curse of public opinion,
feigned history of the truth
Generations of self interest,
freedom—time abused
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
vainglory blossoms
as bud clusters make a show
— cold wind shakes them up
4/6/2018
In my youth I was full of vainglory,
wanting to touch the lives of many millions,
nay, billions of strangers, my name known round the world--
my mark made godlike on their lives....
What nonsense! The famous die and their fame with them, mostly.
The few still remembered by name, who knows them really?
Their lives were mostly secret when they were,
known only to God and their unseen minds--
who knew them then, who knows them now?
The life of the poorest peasant holds meaning in equal measure
to that of a richest king as the Creator is unimpressed by gold
and bored by our myriad vanities....
So I have learned after many foolish years what is important:
to sing to the soul of another! And to listen closely for their song,
even if we have never met, nor ever will....
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.