CHAPTER SEVEN
LUST
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You, the most enchanting of them all,
the one human souls most idolize,
owner of such peerless beauty,
and adventurous mind.
There's no other as endowed as you,
after all, no other creature
can make humans feel the way you do.
You sit there,
in a throne of pleasures,
hearing the obscene desires of others
to maintain your own.
There's no greater power than love, they say,
pathetic, you think,
because, after all, if love was, indeed,
more overpowering than yourself,
no soul would crumble their element
to succumb to you.
[And everyone knows, they do.]
YOU ARE READING
Deadly Sins
Poetry"Our sins are more easily remembered than our good deeds." - Democritus © 2017 autumn meinhardt
