If writing is a sin, then God, have I been tempted—

Too much heresy in my youth to stop now and plead absolution

From a power I’ve only ever seen as cold and cruel.

If writing is a sin, then it’s a deadly one—

Codifier of the famous seven, creator of a thousand more.

Priests call pride the worst of the worst

But what is pride if not the act of creation?

If writing is a sin, then Heaven is a fiction—

Doubly so for me, writing of my doubt.

Oh, forgive this sinner, preoccupied with vices

But the voices inside me beg to be released on page.

And who am I to do anything

But obey?