The Holy Sin Poem by Alexander Romanov

Do not fear the men who steal for gold or kill for crowns—
their hunger has shape, their sins can be measured.
But tremble before the pure-hearted criminal—
whose cause is not gain, but justice imagined, vengeance sanctified.
Their hands are clean, yet bloodied by purpose.
Their gaze holds no greed—only irrational hatred and hollow sorrow,
a sadness so deep it forgets love, and a hatred so pure it no longer needs reason.
From such hearts bloom acts no logic can contain,
and from such souls, no mercy will ever rise.