When the scales
finally fall from my eyes
and I see clearly
my spiritual pride
it is as if my skin 
would crawl right off my body
if it could.
There is nowhere to run then.
There is nowhere to hide. 
I am just stuck
with that nasty monster
of spiritual pride.
How ugly
how off-putting
how dark and lonely
the world becomes – 
for knowing what is worse
than being a slave
to addiction
complacency
resentment 
and
hate – 
it’s holding hands 
with that nasty monster
who whispers lies of perfection
and tall tales of worth
keeping me puffed up
and, oh so
proud on a cloud. 
Alone there I sit
wishing my skin had a zipper 
to make the shed of it 
quicker – 
yet knowing the truth 
of how stepping away from it
swiftly
and
hiding it somewhere behind a wall
only prolongs its hold
on the serenity of my soul.