Like a fire that burns without a trace, but thrice as much bigger than a forest of flames, Pride walks in and consumes the leaves around the trunk of life. The sap of its veins dry off at once, and a vast shadow of sad bugles and blacked-glass sounds occupy the rearguard. Up front -that is, before that tragedy-, the sight is a swindle, quite opposite, like the rear of a surf wave. A couple of sisters come along with Him: Dignity and Respect. Their proximity is announced at the call of drums and the blast of sirens and an intense light precedes their presence, though.
Unlike wine, Pride never tastes as mild, warm and evasive as a red cup. Pride is furious and intense and requires immediate surrender and compliance. His call is of immediate urgency; his nature, of pure electricity burning all along as He progresses forward. Blood and turbulence, heat and necessity, that is Pride: the Universal driving force of personal justification, in a momentous departure of Reason... Or in vast and silent desert of Reason.
He is hard to resist off... Hard to be away from.
However, be! Be away from the dead-end of Pride!
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