Vincent,
there’s a beast in me,
There’s
a beast in fair Samantha,
We
want, we need, we grasp, we scream, Our beasts are everywhere.
Men will scrap for land, or sex, Like children scrap for toys. There’s a beast inside all our despairs And some inside our joys.
For it feeds in every Darkness, As it shuns most kinds of light. We lose our Selves within our beasts, Reach both our depths and height.
Then all deny we’re predators, Which matters not the least. You’ll never keep it in a cage. (You can’t not feel your beast.)
We feel it in our passions, And we feel it in our rages. Young and old, fresh and done, There’s a beast for all the Ages.
We feel it when we love or kill. We sense it in our cunning. We sense it whether we are still Or whether we are running.
This beast it loves to gorge itself, Even as it loves the chase. Though mine’s a beast, yours is a Beast -- I fear your uppercase.
~
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