The Peacock



a poem about narcissism

I fell to my death

Upon the sharpest arrows

Of whom I guarded

My knees black with dirt

From the very same ground

Where I once stood tall

Through the darkened clouds

The moon met my weary soul

With soothing shelter

I turned and peered deeply

Into the shore’s quiet reflection

Of my destruction

And I whispered

“If we meet again

Put your weapons down,

And your feathers, too.

Let my tired soul rest

I would never fail you,

Except fail by you.”

My body crumbled there

And my weakened heart played

Its final notes.

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