Sinner’s Song

Poesy plus Polemics

Photo from Photo from

mellifluous matins of birdsong

drift under the eaves

repainted with sunrise covering stains

left where sin slipped the house

into punishing night

where it ever remains unforgotten

beyond palliation

through penance or promise

life imperfectly lived

collects occult colors the eye cannot name

within threads weaving bedclothes of shame

sin is soundless like darkness is

even with ears to the moon

but morning is broaching the guiltiest tide

raising up the real question of whether

the feathers of music reveal

all my sins were a dream or

I died in their quiet iniquity

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