Saturday, May 9, 2009

Beauty and Love

How many poets, who at their wits end,
Have raised their dizzy heads to a dead muse –
Hoping after hope's last breath to portend
Glory in their quest for an image to use
To compare Beauty's pleasure to Love's pain?
Learning rhymes and tales of lovers' rich store
Has left them more to learn and less to gain
Of how to blend two realms of faulty lore.
For Beauty finds pleasure in deceiving
The weak hearts of countless untrained men.
And Love, the fickle harlot, prizes weaving
Grand fated plans with an infernal grin.
    Undaunted by Love's sideways back dealing,
    I assault your beauty with words (un)appealing.

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