A poet’s pride


Once, I even dared believe

That I figured out beauty,

Though all I did was deceive

My soul from its true duty:

Which is to experience, feel.

But convinced I understood

The blueprints of all ideal,

In my pride, higher I stood

Believing I could tangle

With beauty; see its prude shapes

And calculate its angles

When I couldn’t even scrape

The layers of mystery,

Akin to a see-through drape,

That all throughout history

Had left many hearts agape.

I dreamt myself above god,

Oh I! but a poor blind sod…


Not feeling entirely satisfied with this one, might need some reworking.

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