contemplating how to prepare the words
that have racked up in your stomach.
breathing to settle these words
as they rest on your tongue.
Those loaded lips,
speaking that final word
breaching your own code of conduct.
Comprised in haste,
you find that final word
has a nasty aftertaste.
is racking up in your heart
like a spice rack of Pride.
Filled and full,
tasting bitter, spicy and dull
this flavor has managed to take control.
On this flavor's original day,
a subtle sprinkle
started your foolish way.
The oft' familiar taste,
of this embarrassing heat stages under your eyes
as a glance of regret.
Hidden within a secret sauce,
displayed on a plate of words you have prepared;
this dish is for someone else eat it.
"Pride goes before destruction,
and a haughty spirit before a fall."
I find my self writing this poem in the midst of a fallen state. It is much easier to swallow pride before it has a chance to act out and affect others. After it is out and exposed, the taste is ever more bitter. But by the grace of Jesus, that bitter flavor of pride can be overpowered and southed with grace.