The Virtuous

The virtuous are satisfied with their lot.
They don’t talk about it unless prompted,
and few ever prompt them.
Pompous allegories enfold them.
Dark dirges assemble at their feet.
They inhale sweetness
through their marshy mouths
and exhale turbulence.
Their arms are succulent tendrils
weaving through the damp despairing air
that ensnares the rest of us in apathy.
The virtuous will be the death of me.

-r. miller

One thought on “The Virtuous

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s