flight of the sin

trifling sins, oh paltry sins, without whom we are gods,

but in their presence even kings may live like vulgar sods;

of course, their faces, dainty, plain, and ugly all at once,

is never shown in mirrors, glass or by their carried stance.

but beauty, oh, you beauteous stray, that prances, pirouettes,

and whirls and twirls to devilled tunes, then sculpting silhouettes;

against a sky, so bright! so blue! with fired passion'd sun,

betraying yet your sinful smile, awaiting for the one.

this nameless beast, that seeks unveiling of a shadow's boon,

but waiting till the ocean's waves come high tide 'fore the noon;

instead, to find that cadenced tune still playing in the breeze,

that makes the world revolve reversed, and hell's over to freeze.

but matters not, for faceless shroud that's used to hide that sin,

which lurks beneath the scaly skin, and haunts the soul within;

oh, banish, thee! to far away! return not till the day,

that death takes hold, from these frail grips, and love has lost its sway.

pretend no more, oh sins of six, or seven - eight if may,

or double that, to sixteen still, that pales to chocolate grey;

revealed, thine face, so scarred and pocked! and marred with no respite,

i'll save you yet, with mind and might, i've not given this fight.

envy? lust? and avarice? with peppered pride to taste,

one's weakness through the quietude, has only beget haste.

forget not, though your acedia, too, that made you apathy,

these masks, of trifling, paltry sins, without whom you are free.

so let those wings of rainbow'd spate, let loose unworried flight,

and maybe, perhaps, fly on home, you'd wish, you'd want, you'd might.