Cleft

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In each man doth cupid sits poised,
stringing his bow, singing, though inaudible his voice.
For long ago was his body done in,
now flies he in spirit, name's now charlatan.

But in each man's mind, his memory, his soul,
sleeps all man's past, truth's n' dreams in full.

So, Cupid sits inside, yearning to release
the waves of the arrows he's kept.
Aflame to penetrate the skin of virgin women,
to pierce right through their tight narrow clefts.

This, is love.
This is love.
Last edited by Cornelius_Quinnsomer on Sun May 06, 2007 1:15 am, edited 1 time in total.




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In each man doth cupid sits poise,
stringing his bow, singing, though inaudible his voice.
For long ago was his body done in,
now flies he in spirit, name's now charlatan.


I like the general idea and descripton that you convey here, I'm not really to sure about old English and that sort of thing, so I can't really point out anything in particular. That first line seems to me that it should end on "poised" but then it's probably just the way you would write it using Old English.

I like the in, charlatan rhyme, I think it is an effective one.

Aflame to penetrate the skin of young virgin women,


This sentence in your third stanza is a bit clunky, it feels like your trying to fit too much onto one line.

This is love.


Good ending, overall very nicely written. I enjoyed reading it.
Sing we for joy and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having. -- Ezra Pound

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I really enjoyed this overall. The style you've chosen is no doubt reliant upon a reader's personal preference, but I think that this would be better if you lost portions of the "old english" style--it distracts from what you're actually saying. Some suggestions:

In each man cupid does sit poised,
stringing his bow, singing, though inaudible his voice.
For long ago was his body done in,
now he flies in spirit, his name now charlatan.

But in each man's mind, his memory, his soul,
sleeps all man's past, truth's n' dreams in full.

So, Cupid sits inside, yearning to release
the waves of the arrows he's kept.
Aflame to penetrate the skin of young virgin women,
to pierce right through their tight narrow clefts.

This, is love.
This is love.
The individual leads in actual fact a double life, one in which he is an end to himself and another in which he is a link in a chain which he serves against his will or at least independently of his will.
--SIGMUND FREUD



This is a house of homes, a sacred place, by human passion made divinely sweet.
— Alfred Joyce Kilmer