The Most Proud

 The most proud, will stumble and fall. There would be none to raise you up. There would be a drought upon your waters and it will be dried up. A destroying wind will come, and blow your house in.... like fanners around you. 

You will be rolled down, from the rocks and become a burnt mountain. You will be desolate forever. Non of your stones will be taken for a foundation. Your MIGHT will fail. 

You will be an astonishment and a hissing. You will labour in vain and be weary. You will have no bread to eat, in times of hunger. Your company will be scattered. You will look and will not find them. 

Your rivers will no longer flow into the sea, as a blessing. It will become a tributary, travelling a slow course. Your friend will become your enemy. Your adversaries will be your chief. Your enemies will prosper over you.

Your gates will become desolate. None will come to your feasting. Your abode will be an empty cup. You will remember what you had, in the days of old and mourn and weep for what once was. Your light will be dimmed. 

You will have no honour and your nakedness will be looked upon. A net will be spread for your feet and heat will enter into your bones, that cannot be diminished. You will not be able to rise up. Because your strength will fail. 

Your eyes will run down with a continuous flow of water, that cannot be unchecked. You will be a stranded citizen in a foreign land. Your sighs will be many and your heart will faint, with every turn. 

The proud will not leap for joy, in the morning light. Their ambition will bring upon them shame and shut every open door. Misfortune,


they will encounter in every step. Loneliness will be their companion.

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