They crave it like cocaine
Petty Napoleons plotting world
conquest
On the backs of moist bar napkins
and old pay stubs
Living in the shadow of their
great fathers
Whose shoes they can barely fill,
Yet whose fortunes they squander
As if they earned it themselves
Feeding on some need even they do
not even know,
Some unfulfilled ambition they see
in other people
A fountain head of misguided logic
That paints them as a glorious
prince
Hiding their lust behind masks of
self-righteousness
They way Dorian Gray hid behind
his portrait,
Too scared to ever show their real
face
For the horror it would reveal
about their dark soul
This craving, this ache for power,
this need to be
Something other than merely petty.
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