Poem about erotic experience 1

Man as a being is bound to his thirst as

nature is to spring, his pain has to be

sated through sacrifice of misgivings,

for only that is noble life

He thirsts honey-peach, anger and power,

but blind he is not, for Night is a silent servant

of God, it ends its life by becoming a light bearer

And those men of insatiable thirst are bound to

seek Red, for Red is passion of Being

Man is such a flower, he takes his pain, which

is his seed and voyages far, far from fated events,

battles which molded history, to first heart breaks

when he learns his gentle soul is made of Moontear and

Honey, to faceless days of his rise, where on countless

storms his head rises to reach the crown, truth, Being

How man thirsts, but his thirst isn’t holy, for poor man

is poor in his hunger, and man is rich when he knows

when is his time to eat

Even more, man can be a star, when his hunger

is hunger when he conquer himself, for Red shines

from him in those moment, moon’s rising, true holiness

Hands are made for praying, because they were made for work

Man cover’s in work, to find freedom from himself, as much as

rock try to become ocean, for being dirt is too hard on any being

To man who seek to pray through work, thirst heats as it were

sugar, hard, unrefined, of such sweetness which hurts man, but

let it glow, let it be more than sweetness, let it become tear, for

every tear is a salt of being, heavy mirage of what is yet to come

And man spends season refining his thirst, molding it, molding

it to extent that he forgets himself within it, becoming the

thirst itself

Time pass and man is himself, for being lost in work is light,

for it uncovers our being, and light that uncovers man’s beauty,

man’s erotic nature is higher than any light, it’s name is Red

 

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