Sin Poem by Anthony White

My Pride stands as a mighty wall,
Proof from jibes and lies.
Yet is brought lowly, and does fall
To a lover, when he tries.

For my Lust does sit atop that wall
Of marbled Pride and Greed.
At times, my consideration, most of all
Is the giving of my seed.

My Avarice, is a thirst unquenched,
But while other men surround
In all their worldly good entrenched,
In those such goods, I'm crowned.

But to every other king I look,
My Envy swallows whole.
But never 'nother crown I took,
Nor sat 'pon stolen throne.

That Gluttony, of which I fill
My reasoned, think set girth,
Is a subtle think, at least until
It takes solace, in good mirth.

'Tis not my Sloth which holds me back,
Though still it holds its sway.
Still, although my heart 'mains black,
'Tis given, each other day.

Yet my red Wrath has yet to see
A foe whom can't be bested.
All opposed shall bend the knee,
Or the Fury shan't be rested.