Sinful Poet

Nothing's worse than the sin of a poet,

Even if their tongues pleads to be forgiven,

The soul's pain collects the pleasure when they saw it,

And rejoices in it when in the heart of a dirge it's driven.

Nothing's worse than a poet that sins,

They see the scars in their souls eye to eye,

In mutating portraits with burning falling skins,

And then a trophy on their tombstones when they die.