The Fragilty of Futility by Fr. Beta Librae
Strange concotions, oceans of emotions that cause riptides of the aorta.
Drink the brew of love and get drunk of the mass not the iota.
Trembling fingers that hold shaking cigarettes.
From sexual satisfaction or from emotional regrets.
Daunting dreams of heroism and leaping over cataclysms.
The wishing well of the mind's purple ectoplasms.
Thus when in the mood for the pleasure of pain,
Drink not from vials of bane.
Drink only from love's sweet kiss, for lust is in vane.
Sweet memory revived of sweet childhood.
That innocense in which we lack to persist,
Hidden in the tomb of what we insist.
Resurrect the corpse of that fatal plight,
Love is grounded, the lust take's flight.
To abide in the lolls of your uncommited faults,
Ego at the wheel, when needed in the vault.
Yet, hope is in the vigor of the heart,
And eternity is in those who nay part.
Be strong and be fortified in thy commited ways,
Traitors are empty and not wanted in the frays.
Be true to yourselves and to your oathes,
Freedom is costly, slavery loathes.
The fragility of futility is a thin red line,
Love is the labour drink of it's wine!