Conceit

Conceit looks at self in magnified ways, Imagined superiority over nothing. Arrogant and vain, its reason in disarray Stands on a pedestal but is shaking. Empty containers make a lot of noise, Like heads full of air that produce an echo. Brains are dull and make the wrong choice, Fed by drugs and by stuff we all know. A tree is thus known by the fruit. It is never assessed by the color. What deeds a man does is the truth, Who he is - that's the fact he can't alter. Copyright © Cynthia Buhain-Baello