An Interview With Sin

An Interview with Sin As the moon argues with clouds in winter’s tormented sky A frail life lingers in the shadows Waiting for deaths hello To ride the waters of dawn On a black majestic funeral swan. Through frosted windows, A whispered presence Drifts into mortal conscience Mirrored in dancing apparitions, Around the candles flicker. A voice that is familiar Yet distant in the memory In the Rocking chair a figure Speaking, plumes of mist Looking from a dark abyss Where once there was a face, The scratching of a Quill, Writing, moving across a veil of grey, Hiding the pages beneath Words ringing in the brain I am the collector, the scribe Your confessor and your obituary The keeper of the book of time Come sit with destiny Shall we begin? What form shall I be? An angel to the faithful, Or the demon to the liar Perhaps a treasured friend I come in many guises For I am the poet of life Saints and sinners, Kings and beggars Good and evil All accountable in the ledger of time The quill will sense your soul, Though your heart will try and hide, The truth, the person that is you. You were given a conscience And that will always betray you Your page is for another to judge Your existence a statement of your worth The outcome, the navigator To where your swan will fly Fear not, for many sins lie here The harvests of war and famine, The indifference of man and The corruption of the planet All lie here. Sin created my destiny, my prison, I cannot go into deaths kingdom Not until the sun turns red And the rivers run dry I wait for silence to shout his name Till all that is now is gone, Then my sentence will be done The sins of the world belong to me And the last page waits for my confession And then too I can take the swan’s journey Though I fear eternity has no happy ending for me.