As On Our Sinner’s
Path We Go
by
Vincent
Vurchio
Angel eyes hide demon thoughts ‘neath brows
washed clean with scented
soaps.
The maiden tempts the sainted man who, in denial,
tries to cope
With images that, in his brain, dance naked ‘round
the vital stem
And cause him to refuse his soul which lives for
things he must condemn.
Those tortured spirits, trapped by sins, beyond
their limits drown
In rapid streams of carnal lust, die dashed on
rocky petards brown
With crusts of morbid, rancid acts that pillory
their vaunted trust,
Their hearts aground on fetid spikes of hell-forged
spears, replete with
rust
That is the oxidation dregs of mem’ry lost
in dreams of doom,
And, sharpened by the strop of hell gleam brightly
in the midst of gloom
Expounded by the minds of saints who’s mendicant
mental’ty ranks
Them somewhere ‘neath the boards of floors,
below life’s flying buttress
planks
That jut from stuccoed walls of grief, plastered
to the stones of death
That rob brain’s thoughts, the hearts of
blood, and purge the lungs of
blessed breath.
While sense, with data gorged to burst, overwhelmed,
does overload.
Assaults on brains already fevered, starts the
rout down vic’try’s road.
Be gone!
You carriers of morbid
jest, targeting man’s tortured will.
Return to He who birthed you, now!
Leave off this battle!
Retreat! Still,
Do not forget to leave behind you bread-crumb
trails from Stygian dough,
So we may join you, by and by, as on our sinner’s path
we go,
