Through a stolen chance,
a fleeting glance did swallow him whole.
The empty rush of poisons lust,
a breath of fire filled up his tube,
the rising soldier of aesthetic views.
He was,
lost in stolen jungled terrain,
he scoured the untold
with nothing to gain
but the triumph of splendour
and marking of his name.
His lips did sing with all the fervor of a new convert
as the audience applauded and began to squirt.
How scrumptious his victory behind enemy lines
as a life long promise began to untwine.
The downpour of wet reigned him in ignoble,
as his ruler wrought him, a soldier immobile.
The squelch of scrambled boots in the mud,
everything falling to shambles with shots and thuds.
To shelter he sought,
without even a thought.
Without even a thought...

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