It’s three a.m. and the night invites
A sport to nurture the spore of guilt,
Which causes me to arise despite
The cold resolve I thought I had built,
to fight in fright the biting plight,
the bright exciting slight of night,
the tight and mighty white delight
That my conscience deems as wrong,
And I’d abandon if I were right,
but the Devil sings a careless song.
Thus with passion refusing to wait
Until it justly could be wasted,
I’ll embrace the sultry, fleshy freight
Until my hands have evil tasted;
I’ll mate with nature’s bait, irate
and hating late night dates with fate,
innate with traitors’ traits to sate.
Dancing now with my demise,
I greet the serpent and won’t negate,
yet know, all the while, the Devil’s guise.
Aloof in the water’s heat and hum,
I ravage the hunger’s pining pangs;
The stab of my conscience overcome,
I pray the siren to gnash her fangs,
to stun and strum my wondrous son,
and mumble cunning crumbs of fun,
till, numb and dumb, I come undone.
Holy spirits singing sweet,
I see a child in the maelstrom,
and hear the Devil in my heartbeat.
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Submission Name: Delight
