The Sophist

2014-03-18 12:00 am

Dwelling in the desperate,
Hermitage of my heart,
Life is apparent, 
Yet it appears to be not,
As it seams,
Cupid's eyes blinded by cloth yards,
Shooting at places unseen,
And all the arrows' arc,
Landing on me,
Heart changing by second,
Changing more in between,
This Cupid gone blinded,
Young, fat little fiend,
Now days pass idyllically,
Lost in the breeze,
Days Simon Iff spends searching the trees,
His goal has been set,
Simple Simon sets free,
Hiram Abiff in the woods on his knees.
Arms cut from body,
Both hands full of dandies.