The brow furrowed – it’s hard to hide the turmoil, the head, the neck, strained.
The eyes set in motion.
Sitting to wonder, and wondering of a fallibility (perhaps mine).
The fealty I require is digging in the dirt.
Beyond the crest of my imagination,
Flung short of reason, the desire builds,
The relative truth, the drawn necessity,
The thinly veiled delights begin to terrify.
The mortal being shudders in a wreck-lessness :
There is a tortured line between fear and thrill.
The fencing off only renders further eruptions
And devastation has its way of becoming arrogant.
In the beguiling aftermath of foiled temptation
Or the loss of control by any other hand.
There is a fragrant air of anticipation
The end of one, the beginning of the next.
What punishments the mind contrived are lost
The education in the guilt wears at the seams
The man set free from burdens of illogical debasement
Accepts within himself his very being.
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