Pride

He was the dearest friend I ever had. For 20 years we shared all we knew. Then I said something blatantly bad And he said our friendship was through. I had a chance to tender an apology, But something ill-wrought held me back. Was it the differences in our theology— I saw issues as white, he as black? No, I doubt that was at the core of it. I suspect unbending pride was in play. My views vexed the truth I now admit And I shouldn’t have given them display. `Tis a pity, for it was a small affair Nothing to risk our friendship about. Yet my silence told him I didn’t care, And left my esteem for him in doubt. It’s too late now, the Reaper called. He can’t hear me on the other side. That fact leaves me achingly appalled. All because of my practice of pride.