Sharp to the butcher,
Dull to the lecturer
Fallen intellectual cherub
The wise man crawls into my skin
Makes himself a home-
A creature of moral habits encompassing a voyage.
Forage a thought of great comfort, dwell upon the complex.
A savior under the glass pasture
Among mere rainbow ends.
Clouded memory in textile of gold
Blankets the fallen,
Shatters the wings of the bold.
Bountiful masterpieces are told by the unknown
Frail pieces dismember the heart and bestfriend the soul
As the wise man prolongs his welcome
The ruinous cherub consumes all:
A butterfly will never fly again
When its delicate wings have been graced by the touch of ravenous hands.