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By Peter O
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"... being lifted up by pride so to fall into the condemnation
that the devil once did." 1 Ti 3:6


Bring my soul to You,
Kindle my prayer-log's fire and
Uncrown my pride.

Pride, the slave trader,
Enslaves faith in doubt,
Hope in despair,
Love into hate.

Pride, gilded arrogance,
Fatigued by ambition's fever and
Living a masquerade, in the end
Leaves the soul an aged bent back
Or, worse, a snail on a window
Looking in, but feeling out.


A proud heart
Loses the prize --
An humble heart
Gains the prize --
The quiet green growth
Of a Jesus-Life.

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Submitted: Saturday, February 7, 2015

Last Updated: Saturday, February 7, 2015

About the Poet
I am 79 years of age. For the past nine years I have been retired, after forty years, from the field of alcoholism and drug abuse in New York City. I am married and we have two grown sons and two grand-sons. My life changed through a grace-experience in 1967. Writing Christian prayers is a particular interest of mine. This came about by a growing awareness of the spiritual in recovery from addictions. I choose, intellectually and emotionally, to believe the Triune God of the Sared Scriptures as my Healer.

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