Looking back over my worn shoulders toward a future infatuated with their styles,
I sip on Dragon Pearl Jasmine like I belong but my shoes tell the story of downtrodden miles.
I gaze in with concentration but blinded by a sapphire and carnelian brooch pinned to your twill coat,
I study the subtle movement of your wrist draped in Breguet Depuis but you are above any desire to gloat.
Not to be outdone, your neck caressed by Van Cleef & Arpels with the scent of Clive Christian No 1,
Salvatore Ferragamo clings to your body as your feet rest in Pierre Hardy Gala Pumps for fun.
I am shackled by this utopia, but brought back by the engine of the Maserati and your Nubian Hair,
My lunch break is over, my infatuation continues, back to serving success with an enviable stare.
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Author:
servant for Him (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 6th, 2021 19:25
- Comment from author about the poem: Life’s pleasures are measured by material success and our envy for these perishable items leaves one deeper in covet’s coffin.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments2
My life's pleasures were not, contrary to your author's note, measured by material success although I had a modicum of that.
Pleasures that money cannot buy will last and never fall from fashion, suffer mechanical breakdown, nor wear out.
The air of such, non financial, rewarding pleasures will follow you as your perfume of dignity.
The pleasures we find in life have nothing to do with wealth, the meaningful pleasures are free.
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