Regard your hands with disgust.

Idle, they are the tools of wicked thought...

 

Your mind wanders the contours of things forbidden,

misused, it writes a script for dormant horrors...

 

the seed and the active ingredient repel,

whilst psychopathic imagination permits all...

 

the membrane of restraint is gossamer thin...

a butterfly wing betwixt heaven and hell

                                                                  between war and peace

 

that moment between the idea and the act,

before a life or the world entire might change...

 

In those quiet spaces of strength or surrender

lives are shaped or destroyed

                                                                   that know not each other.

 

 

https://wolfgarwords.com/2025/04/16/the-infinity-of-consequence/