Sine Qua Non Poem by Morgan Michaels

Guiltworthiness. The essential thing.
Needed prime-mover of the minor gods
Harmonies ring for no maker without you
nor, lacking you, may one blot out and begin again.
Like a child in bed one trembles and yearns
loath to shutter his eyes
at the sign of the least infraction,
as the ember ascends the stair
clenched in the teeth of the Avenger;
holding the key to redress
via harmony, the myriad sins of the world;
lay, in endless waking, supine,
dreaming righteous moon-lit paths
through branches of impropriety;
for whom the Beautiful is only rightly
the absence of wrong's formal embodiment.
'Child-trembling at the end of this accusing finger',
Child, it is you.'