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IB4F82Tz, UC

Their predestination awaits
A mad tempting of the fates,
Lusty instincts, embraced.
These libidos' tug, traced
Through all creation, seminal,
Where urges aren't minimal...
Candle moths, yearn at dusk,
Flame, as a stag, the musk.

Ever encircling its allure,
Caring not what to endure
Until closer to the flame,
Transubstantiated, became
Who he hadn't been, where
He could not return, care
Long forgotten...only her,
Whom he would not defer.

Moth or stag, matters not,
Outdistanced, both forgot
Homo Sapiens far exceeds
All creation as to needs.
Population's satisfaction,
Copulation, a distraction
From all else, its flame
Consumes a man, the same.

Propagation's consummation,
A terminal conflagration,
If it's a means turn to
An end, instead; her new
Elevation, makes fashion
Of a prostituted passion.
Belial offers up a laugh,
Bowing to our golden calf!

If created, determination
Of existence's termination
Unacceptable, end or means
Unintended for other genes...
Of the flame, beware! Moth
Or man, no pleasure betroth,
That's unwilling to give groom
Options averting final doom!


--H. Arlequin

  




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