PRIDE

In the ancient tongues of olden days, Where whispers weave their mystic maze, A tale of pride in shadow's haze, Unfurls its grip in darksome ways. In halls of yore, where kings held sway, And warriors bold in armor lay, Pride cast its spell, a deadly play, In hearts of men, led them astray. From golden thrones to lowly sod, Pride's venom spreads, a silent rod, In haughty hearts, it finds its trod, And claims its toll, the prideful god. Beneath the moon's enchanting light, Where dreams take flight in darkest night, Pride whispers sweet, a siren's bite, And leads the soul to endless plight. For pride, a master of disguise, In noble garb, it oftplies, Yet deep within, its venom lies, Corrupting souls, until they rise. So heed the warning, ancient and wise, Let not pride's whispers cloud your eyes, For in its grip, the spirit dies, And all that's left are mournful sighs.