All our philosophies,
our silken veils,
are but placards---
excuses for appetite.
What man would know the truth
if it did not justify his means?
Discipline dies in the darkened
corners; that shadowed
plain of night
wherein no eye probes---
no damned justice hold sway.
Who can plead with affection?
Who can debate desire?
The heart has been tried
and found wanting.
From it rushes the fount
of pleasure, flowing free.
No. It is not shackles
that will hold us firm,
no cord of assurance or
conviction will bind.
There is no reformation
when the prescription necessitates abdication.
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