Flesh is the greatest temptation, instinct that turns blood to adrenaline,
pleasure of touch so delirious sense disappears.
Desire of such sensations heightens to blind reason,
consume the soul in eternal longing,
for temporary bliss.
It is an experiment full of uncontrollable variables
the outcome unknown
always unique.

Impulse to horde,
the wineskin close at hand,
the platter settled on lap.
Routine warrants consumption,
the water of sin,
the food of demons,
settles in the belly of man.

Dragons of the world guard gold,
harbor all that is within reach,
clawed hands scrape for more.
Consumption replaces reality,
the archives of material bury common sense,
killed by their own empty needs.
Dragon slayers are themselves,
when gold is not enough,
their skin becomes worthy to sell.

Slow to move and slow to act,
the world goes on,
seen through glassy eyes and mist covered paths.
Safety in comfort warrants resistance,
the call of the wind has dropped its persistence,
those who won't move will die where they stand.
The mist will move and cover their grave,
as they had before there they will stay.

Anger of hell burns in veins,
molten cores never cool,
it is volcanic eruptions that permit some relief.
Ash clouds smother those nearby,
the wrath of God rains from the sky.
This temperament cannot be tamed,
explosive thoughts and no self control,
like dynamite in flesh.

Vines of green reach out with twisted hands,
the temptation to invade others' lands.
Lush is their yard and flush is the grass,
lush is the lad and the pocket book of man,
flush is the breast of woman, lush is the world not my own.

Armored by words that pour from the mouth,
masks of power and fake trophies on shelves,
they insist to be better of much higher worth.
Lack of self esteem is guarded by claims to fame,
all of it fake,
through hubris they will fade.