Yes many men have crafted their demise,

And built the looming gallows with their pride,

They play at follies innocence denies,

And dig deep graves where grinning shadows bide;

They forge the gauntlet sealing out their fate—

Through rank hubris they dare provoke the Gods;

Decrying Styx and even Heaven’s gate,

And worse—the path their wayward step still plods.

Blind self-conceit directing every deed

While infamy attends their hollow fame;

Each misstep glossed by flatterers in need,

That loss or failure bears a sweeter name.

Bolder still when Fortune disagrees,

They feign repentance, groveling on their knees.