The Proud

In every proud, unbent spirit

There is a will to war.

The deafened ones admit no merit

In the commands of the humble.

Mocking, they deny defeat

When they are beaten,

And as they willingly repeat

Punishment, still they do not heed it.

These creatures grow ever more monstrous.

They crush the weak in the way,

Rolling over us and through us,

Settling black eyes on all they cannot overpower.

And yet, at last, their reign will end,

Though they are proud as Satan.

Stronger than iron, the spirit bends,

In the hands of its Creator.