The Sin of Pride
Upon a throne of gilded lies,
Pride sits, with fire in its eyes.
A whispered voice, a velvet snare,
It lifts you high, then leaves you bare.
A mirror polished, sharp and clear,
Reflects the face we long to cheer.
But deeper still, behind the glass,
A shadow stirs where truths won’t pass.
It builds a tower to the sky,
Where humble hearts dare not apply.
With every stone of self-conceit,
The soul forgets it’s incomplete.
For Pride, a thief both sly and cold,
Takes love and leaves a heartless hold.
It blinds the wise, corrupts the kind,
And leaves the broken lost, confined.
Yet when the tower starts to fall,
And echoes shake its lofty wall,
The humbled heart, through dust and pain,
May rise to find itself again.
For Pride may claim a fleeting throne,
But grace is found in hearts unknown.
To bend, to bow, to see, to share—
In lowering self, we rise through care.
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