Filthy Still

If we can create for ourselvesA living hell in this life.Then it only makes sense That the hell that we create might continueIf the blackness of our hearts is realAnd not imagined.And if our conscience pricks us hereWhen our eyes are dimmed By deceitful outward appearances,Then the same conscience might prick us thereWhen the falsehood of our outer shell is stripped away,And all the more if we see more clearly there.We don’t see clearly here, And that’s the problem.Our conscience can be seared.We can sin without regret.All the more reasonTo face the inward contradictions Before we discover too late That what we sowed in lifeFollows us into eternity.