We possess no art for art’s forsaken

much the same as our winged mischief maker

somewhere for granted he is not taken

with his love Psyche.  Hell couldn’t shake her.

I watch them daily; the unappeased lot

seem not to notice where they are lacking.

Perhaps, merely I have found what I sought

not as I dreamed, illusion is cracking.

No place for them in heaven or in hell.

For among stars, young Cupid breathes deeply

sadden by this world where humans must dwell

without divine touch; we are unseemly.

Superficiality reigns supreme,

but true beauty creates lovelier dreams.