The Seven Deadly Sins
The sins of seven, counted here
Deadly as they are revealing
Cuts the truth from the souls of men
Peels back the fetid layers
Shows the world their worst desires
And paves the way for suffering
Pride crowns itself in gilded bones
A mirror raised to blot the sun
It whispers, I alone am worthy
Steps on necks and backs to reach above
Cities burn behind its arrogant silhouette
Because nothing or no one else matters
Greed reaches with icy hands
Open graves that never close, never fill
Counting sheaves while others starve
Hoarding coins slick with blood and sweat
Laughter echoes from the guarded rooms
Palms worn from constant rubbing
Lust lingers, hot and close
Hollow promises whispered in darkened rooms
Wanting with needing run afoul of truth
Fingernails, teeth, and moist bodies
Bodies used, abused, and then discarded
As if love were something stolen in the dark
Envy watches from the shadows
Slinking, smiling with newfound desires
It doesn’t want to steal your tilted crown
Rather to watch gleefully as you to lose it
Fall upon the comforting shoulders
Then as your back is turned, to slip the blade in silently
Gluttony is a cavernous pit
Devouring food, flesh, praise, distraction, even noise
Anything to avoid that which waits
Gurgling excess rotting from within
The feast of never-ending sickness
Wearing the dark cloak of indulgence
Wrath arrives like a winter storm
No reasoning, no mercy, only maximum damage
It dresses revenge as justice
Lights fires just to call them cleansing
Disappears while the air still stinks of metal and acid
Not before insisting the damage was necessary
Sloth lies in the putrefaction of a baneful existence
Why bother, not caring despite knowing
A choice of slow rot and decay over anything
Festering evil grows while unattended
Apathy becomes peace, waste a byproduct
Such it the way of the wicked
Seven deadly sins, like seven doors, seven chances
Seven ways we might undo ourselves, destroy ourselves
Not born a monster, but rather bred into one
When human instincts are left unguarded
Eternal damnation doesn’t feel the blade of battle
But settles in quietly and makes itself at home
Additional Reading
R.J. (Ralph) Schwartz is an American poet, author, website owner, and online publisher. His writing spans several poetry collections—ranging from spiritual and romantic to fear-driven explorations—and even extends into science fiction. Notable works include:
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Hope – Inspirational and Spiritual Poetry
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Things That Go Bump in the Night – Poetry of Fear and Fright
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The Lover’s Thread – Poetry for Couples
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Poetry of the Human Condition – The Ups and Downs of Modern Living
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The Secrets of the Moon (a sci-fi novel co-authored with his son Sebastian J. Schwartz)
Schwartz’s work is described as purposefully wordy, richly descriptive, and thematically grounded in nature, romance, antiquity, and forgotten histories. He writes regularly on platforms he manages, including The Creative Exiles, a collaborative venue for writers, and The Gypsy Thread, which delves into offbeat histories, pagan lore, and poetry.
- The Republic of Perpetual Outrage - March 7, 2026
- Thoughts Over Coffee – The Cereal Taxonomy Crisis - February 25, 2026
- Normal Was The First Casualty - February 23, 2026
