The Line

There is a line we should not cross,
Drawn by morality.
A line that keeps us from the path
Of harsh brutality.

For once this barrier is breached,
It will be breached again.
Each crossing of the moral line,
Incites the soul to sin.

When first a husband beats his wife,
It is his hardest choice.
His conscience speaks the loudest then
In a judgmental voice.

But that voice fades with every step
He takes across the line.
Until the shadows of deceit
Obscure the warning signs.

For signs cannot be seen by one,
Deliberately blind.
He'll always redefine the truth,
Within his brainwashed mind.

And as it is with every sin,
That quells the moral tug,
Corruption creeps into the soul,
Like some mind numbing drug.

It silences the righteous voice
That whispers in his ear.
However loud the conscience speaks,
The addict cannot hear.

He's liberated from the guilt,
That once held him at bay.
The more time spent across the line,
The more he wants to stay.

There is no culpability
In sin's graceless design.
And few who cross ever return
From that side of the line.