Lust

LUS̸̫̟̺̣̍̒T 



Hidden beneath a cave remains a child,

Glimmering light, his community to be reviled.

A foolish struggle, give in to the dark,

As sane as it is, the beast ends the spark.


"Dear child, are you hungry?

Would you devour the aroma humbly?"

Among the visitors of the cave,

Was it looking for a craving or a slave?


Many times had this cave visitors,

None burnt the path as an inquisitor.

The cave was dark, the skin ablaze,

Innocent soul had a body to praise.


Turned against the child, the cave was hungry,

Had his limbs torn apart humbly.

The feast had just begun,

Morality left the stage for none.


Child gone, cave hungry, a melting voice,

Remains of a child, his prayers devoiced.

Thus, a replacement was to be created,

Summoning of a beast was fated.



Skin became flesh, claws so fresh,

A miraculous feast, tamed in créche.

Crumbling beneath, joy to be threshed,

If not the souls, fleshes to be meshed.


Hush now beast, the hunt is on,

Shocking to none, two hell spawn,

To devour another, a heaven or a sin?

The era of Lust had to begin.


His eyes torn apart, an empty vein behind,

His mind blind, a morality declined.

Now he, too, seeks the onyx angel,

To consume till she kneels.


It was a wretched beast, for a wretched girl,

Yet the quill is weak, running out of ink.

The beast had found me and

Dear god, it isn't me who you seek

"God shan't help you

and the onyx will devour you"

Wretched beast it was

Spread his jaws

I shall perish

In here,

nightmarish.


Atop his throne, Lust awaits,

His joyful feast locks the gates.

A chained beast he was,

Flesh empowering his jaws,

As my blood decorated his play,

It had itself spayed.


The Council Of Archmage NO.5 Shell Of Orilynn - Tooth Wu

Inside the worlds of consciousness, where the host restricts their desires, remains a hunch. Some claim it to be an iceberg, some claim it to be a desire and the list goes on. But this is not the time to learn the psychological aspect of this term and everything it brings along. We are not talking about sex, violence, a desire for something, or anything close to these. We are talking about the monsters around us and, if you can be humble enough, the ones inside us.

Feelings and emotions are finite and perhaps dying too quickly. What we grow in seeds can be rarely harvested for something greater. It has become a norm for the majority to disregard the trace of emotions and live with the arrogance of emotions. A filthy image of a society becomes self-destructive, but not before destroying minorities. Those who truly "feel" become emotionless, thus they die.

We all have monsters inside ourselves. Some tamed, some tameable, some wild. To me, it is yet another implication of arrogance to claim it as another. If something makes your blood gush, there is no good in pretending to be dead. If you are soulless, then there is no need to breathe life into such theatrics to be a walking corpse. 

Seen as one of the seven deadly sins, Lust is a decoy of our lives. Abandonment of a necessary evil has no purpose because we all feel. Those who claim it to be evil have also scarcely felt. 

Sometimes this beast is blind, just like the one who devoured the kid in a cave. It strikes but does it in a foolish manner. Sometimes, it has eyes and pretends not to. Sometimes, it sees.

No, this is not what this piece was supposed to be about. Surely we can abandon such juvenile behavior and talk about exactly what we want. Desires are encoded in our creation. They lead us, sometimes pulling a rope attached to our neck. Can you really blame two souls for chasing one another with the pure obligation to merge? You cannot, none of us can. We are in no position to punish people for chasing the origin of their creation. I say creation, but it is the heart and mind leading them. Then there are others who seeks to basically massacre this desire to be approved by a society, by a family or simply to prove themselves. Unfortunately, satisfying a society while your own roots are dying is an indication of foolishness. 

When the late John Donne picks up the great quill and writes down Flea, magnifying the beauty beneath Lust, suddenly the amount of hands clapping such beautiful verses increase. But when it comes to seeking your own beast, suddenly everyone is afraid. Pitiful.

Lust was one of the many amalgams presented in my poem titled "The Poem About A Trial". Only one remains.

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