Lust makes foolish beasts out of people,
the wise and the simple both stumble,
yet lack of lust, all made Cathar,
Manichean perfects, would make
the world rather sparse of people -
and of art, for art is begotten by lust,
bare raging lust, or under chaste guise
romance and love burning for a tumble,
and their intertwined counterpart, death,
more often than not; death makes
desperate beasts copulate on their own
coming graves, each orgasm slice of eternity
delivered of our denied immortality,
and lack of lust seeds the world with but
crumbling graves, not humanity's saplings
in flesh and mind, children of body and art,
seeds flung beyond our journey's end.
02.-07.04.2024
#Poem #Poens #Poetry #Verse
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