The holy counted seven
explaining man’s downfall
stacked as wood on the fire
that none dare to disclose
sly source of the vices
the hydra branching out
a monster all embrace
though one head may be king.

Passions are the tendrils
one found fertile ground
an inclination to evil
so say the sacred books
opposite of the virtue
contentment is its name
love invoked by purity
absent in my case.

Dare I share my shadow’s breadth
have you guessed it yet?
the heart that seeks wicked acts
if only in my mind
with fornication as a goal
******* outside of bonds
a harsh name for natural acts
body’s quest to find another one.

The other sins are not absent
we’re only human as molded earth
tainted mortals one and all
each with their own fallen goal
many books may be written
sordid tales upon all men
I’ll add mine to the mix
poetry of the tarnished soul.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170827.