Page 17 of Pride
The sculptures.
The poems.
The novels.
The flowers.
The trees.
The birds.
The bees.
It’s even carried on the fucking breeze,
that graces your face,
and makes you feel alive.
It isn’t in the houses, money, or the car you drive.
If you think it is...
Then you’ve led a very sad life.”
The red spotlight turned gold, and he started to pull on the rope around his neck, taking a moment before he spoke again.
“Do you want to live in a web of lies?
Or are you ready to face the truth,
as it stands in front of you in a blue boiler suit?
My name is S.K.A.M.
But I’m no scam artist.
I’m a peddler of points of view.
A dealer for the demoralised.
A magician, where magic wears thin,
for those who play the game with no prize to win.
But pride?
That’s the prize that keeps on giving.
A currency that never ends.
A reason to keep living.”
We all gasped as sparks of fire appeared above him, lighting up the courtyard like the fourth of July. He held his arms up again as he proclaimed.
“So when the sky rains fire
on your funeral pyre.
