Pride—
pharisaical,
and truly parasitical,
I feel you cling to me;
dangling from my members.
Like mistletoe,
with a kiss so smooth,
though deadly.
Pride—
so serious,
yet ultimately ridiculous,
I’ve let you ride me;
put a bridle in my mouth.
Like a monkey,
on my back you drive me,
and you goad me.
Pride—
you’ve put me on parade,
and made me your showhorse:
I jump, I dance, and I prance,
to win the prize,
before my eyes,
manufactured by your trance.
You’ll whisper in my ear I know,
a secret tale of fear,
and woe:
you and I are a chimera,
from our head down to
our toes.
Oh pride—
What would you do though,
if I no longer allowed you?
Without your sweet mirages,
your tantalizing images:
my life no longer just a vapor,
a falsity and nothing more,
if you tumbled from my back and
my proper vision were restored.
~FS
Prayerful Life 