PRIDE

A feeble form
this fickle mind;
What woeful sorrows
of its noxious pride.
Quick to anger,
quick to offend,
at the feet of humility,
it does not bend.
Debt upon debt
it has accrued
that need be paid
afore I am through.
And so an eternity
lies paved for me,
with no end in sight,
only a reckoning.

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