What is sinful is sinuous.
What is evil is twisted and twisting still.
Worms descended from snakes;
The folds of the brain, rational chill.
In men the spine contorts,
Stooping away from God
To squirm and coil in shadow
Where nary a sandal has trod.
The crooks in a psyche
Find safety in lightless lack
And when shown a bright blaze
Can only tremble, continue twisting back.
For secret shame is a shame itself,
Shifting blame unto others undeserved.
So seethe in sibilance, snakes of hell,
Or seek forgiveness and spines uncurved.
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