He was sharp, I'll give him that.
Sharp suits,sharp tongue too.
His mind sharper than the pencils
In his breast pocket.
Piercing blue eyes detecting any weakness,
Slicing through my fledgling armour.
Always under scrutiny,
Perfection always expected
Though never achieved in his eyes.
Walking in the majestic splendour
Of his own glittering achievements,
Basking in an audacious glow of self-importance.
We lost each other in the thick fog
Of his own propaganda
And I was left stumbling blindly,
Nearly missing my chance to channel my talents,
To find my way.
The day came when I staggered from that fog
And found him gone.
Now with quiet confidence
I gingerly take the first steps on the path
Of my own destiny.