Self-Righteous

He sits, self-righteous there, upon his tall chair.
His high horse with sulfur scent and charred hair.
He sits, self-righteous there, upon his tall chair.
With a pompous stare, smeared across his aged face.
Wrinkles chiseled into place.

Forceful wind caresses his grey beard, moving the hair past his empty hollows.
Soulless eyes.
and
He sits, self-righteous- there, upon his tall chair.
Staring down upon all that I've ever loved, ever known, ever needed, and he mutters.
Only muttering words he knows I can't shoulder.
Its It's not the words, but the order they're placed in; the way that he uses them.
Vowels, add a Consonant.
Create word.
Form a sentiment.
Drop hate.
Feel a pang in your gut, a new wound; A deeper cut.
A slice then a tear.
These words I cant bare, Like bugs beneath my skin, they make me itch from within.
Hateful - Spiteful.
Words.
Spat to monger fear.

His emptiness dares to control me.
I fall, I give.
I lose me.
I lose, because I can not see.
The truth.
I contemplate.
He mutters.
Courage flows.
and My stomach flutters.
I rear - a sign of fear.
Fear not of him, but of the lose of self. 

Rebellion.
Freedom.
Conscience then decision.
My heart decides not my mind.
The truth implies that giving in is a crime.
To myself to society.
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
My memory cries out.

I stand proud.
Stoic in solidarity.
I turn around.
My back now to the crown.
and
Walk away.
The silent proof of my point.

He stands.
Urgently.
He stands to stop me.
He stands too quickly.
To sure, and To proudly.
The caressing wind blows him to the ground.

He sits, self-righteous there, amidst the dust and dirty.
With a pompous stare smeared across his aged face.
Wrinkles chiseled into place.
Forceful wind caresses his grey beard, moving the hair past his empty hollows.
Soulless eyes.
I turn to face him.
Exert my hope.
Extend my help.
My hand is refused.
The fall has changed nothing.
My dreams -Shattered.
I am left to change the course myself.
No Reconciliation.

And as he sits there with his pompous stare.
I stand
I stand Broken.
Stoic in solidarity.

Reviews

[Glenn]

This one sort of grabbed me in. Any thoughts on a title? The only thing i could see wrong with it was;
His high horse with sulfur sent(scent) and charred hair.
This piece has a lot of imagery which really seems to take you away.