Deceit

The sins of the mind
Each graver than the last supressed
And one calls such morals
So much , like folklore
Of pain, treachery, lies and deceit
Such is the mind
What is pure
Is such a trance possible
Or is it a concotion
Brewed in the mind yet not disclosed
How does one become such
One never can,
Fear and pain are the masters
The very that own and puppeteer
And all the mind does is stagger
And fall from grace
Grace, a charade
In the mind of man
Built to fool even him
If such is man, why shall one be judged
For it is built on fallacy