I am a victim of ambition
Tailored by religion.
No! Not religion
Love still in its cradle.
I am born in the wrong time
A time where the romance
Of the subtle things that makes us human
Is scorned by the boredom of today’s lust.
Wait! How can one crafted by providence
Be born in the wrong time?
Please forgive my foolishness.
After all, that love is still in its cradle.
Where was I? Yes! Time.
I am clay created by a potter
To show beauty’s innocence
In a time where beauty is found
Between the legs of a woman.
So, I am born in the right time!
Time, time, time!
I have said that a lot.
Well don’t blame me
It’s still that love in its cradle.
I write not to hear your boring reviews
Filled with bigotry and hypocrisy.
Your useless attempt to edify each other. Pathetic!
No! I don’t want to hear your lectures
Of what you think is right or wrong.
What should be amended or not.
I am a depraved mind
Do not take offence.
Ok... It’s the end of the poem
It must be dramatic.
Let’s see what have got here
Ending:
If you find beauty in the breasts of desire
Then, you phony poets,
You must be the long lost sons
Of perdition.
Hey! Look around, I hear the demons await you
Somewhere in hell.
And the world comments....
Points: 240
Reviews: 530
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