I tread a mossy forest path
in quiet study, musing.
‘Was nothing of my trip that day
disturbing or confusing,
when suddenly a foe sprung forth,
a part of me forbidden.
She jumped atop my tossled mop,
no longer safely hidden.
“What business here?” I asked with fear,
“Why give me aggravation?”
“It’s time,” she said, “to clear your head
of vile self-adulation!”
“Oh, please,” said I, “you surely lie!”
Her eyebrow raised just slightly.
“I’m fat!” said she, “Just look at me,
no longer slim and spritely!”
My portly Ego did a spin,
exposing thighs and belly.
“My word!” I thought, “What have I wrought?”
(She jiggled quite like jelly!)
“You thought yourself above reproach,
so humble and angelic;
but Pride made noise with naughty toys
and raised this lazy relic!”
“What sort of toys would make a din
so loud it woke your slumber?”
“Your words,” she said, “disturbed my bed
and fed the fire like lumber.”
“I beg of you, what must I do?”
I asked with bated breath.
“You must decide,” my Ego sighed,
“to send Pride to her death.”
Pride would not die with humble pie,
She would not die with violence.
The only tool that killed the fool
was utter, deafening silence.
My Ego slid beneath my lid,
her ghostly figure hidden.
But negligence in written word
can stir up things forbidden!
Copyright 2006 Rhonda Lee Richoux
STORIES OF THE 504 