When your pride has a really convincing argument 

When pride prepares its courtroom case,
It wears a thoughtful, solemn face,
It says, “Be strong; do not confess,”
Then calls its hiding “self-respect.”
It brings the evidence of pain,
And makes each old wound speak again,
It says, “You owe them not one word,”
As if a silence makes us heard.
“What if I yield?” the proud heart cries,
“Will weakness bloom before their eyes?”
It builds a wall, then names it grace,
And wonders why love leaves the place.
The mind becomes a clever clerk,
Explaining every shadowed work,
It writes, “I had no choice at all,”
While pride stands smiling by the wall.
It says, “My anger keeps me whole,”
Though anger rents the hidden soul,
It calls revenge a moral light,
Then trips alone each lonely night.
What if the argument is true,
But truth is only partly through?
A fact can be a polished blade,
Used to defend the mask we made.
We call it principle, not fear,
We call it strength to disappear,
We call the locked and bolted door,
A boundary no one may explore.
How grand the foolish royal mind,
That crowns itself both judge and kind,
It burns the bridge, declares it wise,
Then mourns the river’s widening size.
The better self asks, “Can you see
That pride is not integrity?”
Wisdom does not ask us to bend,
But asks what wound we will defend.
So let the heart question its plea,
Before it makes a throne of me,
For pride may win its grand debate,
And find itself alone—too late.

…

DCG