Behind Creation

Poetry - a pure process of creation,
But is it art if it destroys instead?
Consequences laugh at my intensions
As I push my inspiration's clutching fingers
Into closing caskets of the dead.
They are pointing at the sins committed,
All the hearts I've pierced with poignant rhymes,
Verses irreversible as crimes,
Punishment as talent, talent as a punishment,
Punches hollows in my sanity and vanishes.
I confront the ugliness' reflections
In my poetry and its interpretations.
I forsake my craft until the Father
Lets my art align with His creation.