Poetic Pride

Proud of the female lying beneath the bosom
of virtue, and firmly positioned on morality;
But not of that which became and stand to be.
Proud to have a childhood...
Becoming a woman was life's unexpectancies.
A females childhood could be stared upon from time
to time with pride,
But renovation could only be a mere thought.
Not as if it could actually be rejuvenated,
but of partially never denied.
She speaks soft spoken to a female of many faces,
to the inception of one, conceivably existent,
coming in different races.
Negatively, postively, living in two worlds,
Dishing out a taste from each one.

She speaks of life as she stands.
Ceased has the psaltery and harp, timbrel and dance...
David is at a stance.

Pride is no longer held with self-determination,
Taken away by the maledictions of mankind...
Out of sight comes lurking the killer,                                                              and the destroyer that is allowed by the redeemer.
Only nightly, does she walk through the paths of                                  righteousness repenting for daytime troubles...
"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death...this table I prepared before me, sittin'
around are my enemies...each as noticeable as my own
reflection."
She sneers her nose at them with one side of her face.
With the other side they're being embraced.
Slowly, but surely, her body tires of such occurrences
And breaks free,
Letting out a kept secret to each enemy.

High as a bird she stands on wounded eagles on the edge
of a mountain crest,
Releasing tensions of faith,believing this here is fate.                                         She is reborn...no longer stripped of every petal.                                               She was a vine, but now a rose.
From childhood recollections,
a rose is still a rose.