like soot
blackens
a fireplace,
street grime
slushes snow,
seeds riddle
soft, ripe fruit,
hulls wedge
under gums,
rabid dog bites
master’s hand,
this all too
human heart
pumps pride,
beats self-interest,
harbors hypocrisy;
deceived to not
realize own guilt
of high treason
against perfect
law of love, and
its gracious author.
_________
The dirty little secret we don’t like to speak of is “sin” (whispered hiss).
a poem in my pocket 