S.ire

Why can’t I

do what I desire.

Why can’t I

just bury the ire.

The flaming lust

expanding, contorting, thrust upon thrust.

The holy steel

fractured, fatigued, rust upon rust.

Why can’t I

embrace explicate

that which is holy.

Why must I

let sin swallow me

wholly

coldly.

Sire, my sire

make thyself my one

true

desire.

 

© David Lui, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to David Lui and Shore of Sanity with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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