Lesson 6
Behold, her single in the field,some beauty with a striking figure,
standing facing the dusk-down sun,
unaware how she’s the trigger
to some hellishly perverse thoughts
that plague me now and leave me hot
and bothered, though all she has done
is just exist. I am the son
of lust and boredom intertwined,
and my eyes have now weaved a web
where, in the middle, she is trapped,
as my ill thoughts come flow and ebb,
or like a filthy wave crash on
her self in whatever fashion
I please, and I do it quite well,
while hating myself for this hell
I’ve made my bed. It’s not my choice.
I was quite simply born this way.
This is how men are, and that’s true,
but isn’t that what they all say?
Those men who harm, hurt and abuse?
I’m not the same, but still the fuse
that lights their cannon’s in me too.
I am the son of love so skewed
that when I see a lovely lass
lay, lie, or linger, all my mind
can comprehend is nothing more
than how I’d like to get behind
her being and like animals
do what nature has deemed a call
we humans share with any beast.
When I behold I see a feast.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 84 times
Written on 2024-07-26 at 09:15
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