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Sinning

Carson Pytell

Tomes of dust have their morals,
If you believe in that sort of thing,
But all they honestly seem to do
Is point everywhere besides mirrors,
Declare: No matter what, you’re wrong
Unless you’re always right by me,
And try misleading you out of your labyrinth -
Which you’ve been gifted by careful chance,
Who requires your ultimate respect -
To an unreachable shore, a robbed tomb
They themselves robbed before your brith
And kept secret because they concocted
An even more profitable, permanent,
And much less difficult scheme:
Sinning.

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