Pride

 There was a time back then,
 when the closest to a smile he could conjure
 was a dissatisfied smirk,
 targeting his malaise.
 
 He avoided mirrors;
 
 convinced that his desires were misguided,
 at best,
 he smothered in masks of self-preservation,
 nurtured in solitude,
 exhausted in cast-iron stealth,
 yet
 with someday hope.
 
 Someday hope.
 
 The planets aligned
 then,
 out of the blue,
 like an angel whispering
 a gentle major chord
 that crescendoed into
 a dream of flying.
 
 Now,
 in this free play towards oneness,
 in this avalanche
 his agnostic soul
 begins to call blessings,
 
 he knows,
 he has been delivered 
 from the non-linear,
 when nothing was straight-forward;
 
 with the last laugh of relief,
 he soars 
 into the loving embrace 
 of everything,
 of everyone
 of himself.