Lust. (Day 6)

This poem was inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 129, which can be found at the bottom if this post.


Lust is the
Destroyer of all.
And the
Lover of none.

You may feel
His hand upon
Your cheek.
His breath upon
Your skin.
Your two hearts
Beating erratically
To mirror
The intensity of
Your actions.

The mere memory
Of your
Ravenous encounters
May drive you
Mad.
Thirsty
With wanting.
Wanting more.
More than
You can have,
But just enough
That you can handle,
And return.

However,
You leave
A fraction more
Of your soul
Every time
The sheets are changed.

Hours of pleasure
Traded for days
Of constant reliving
Of the details
Which were
Thrust in the deepest
Crevice
Of the mind
Is the reminder that
This was indeed
Lust
You fell in love with.
But destroyed you
From within.




SONNET 129

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action; and till action, lust

Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,

Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,

Past reason hunted, and no sooner had

Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait

On purpose laid to make the taker mad;

Mad in pursuit and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;

A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;

Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.