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.