Not Sin

Forgive me, father,
But I have not sinned.

As the ebony skies,
Simmer over sheepish towns,
Not hosting moons or stars,
I have let the most vivid thoughts
Consume me.

They show me death,
Where my own hands are red.
I bear arms.
I let the screams of victims,
Fill ear vessels,
Who hear only music.

From heartbreak and betrayal,
To mistakes and mischief;
All find the same fate,
Leaving my hands red.

Then I see,
Bosoms and thighs,
Of women pleasuring, thou;
Waiting for him to signal,
Removal of garments,
So, their bodies can meet his.
They are called by his name,
While he remembers them in numbers.

Once lust is satiated,
I will bask in the light of treasures;
Not ones that I earn,
But the ones I inherit.
From the luxury,
Of castles built,
In famine ravaged villages,
I will dine on Turkish delights.

‘King’, they will call me.
First, they will toil in the sun,
Earn me my riches;
Then, they will sing my praises;
Honor my crown,
As an endless night,
Reminds them both,
Of my fortunes and theirs.

These are just some thoughts,
That an ordinary man, thought
As the skies, turned ebony.

Mere thought,
Was never considered sin.
But father if it were,
Heaven would be,
An empty paradise.

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