Blind Angel

Blind Angel on your numbered cloud, where dwell frustration and delight,
You're safe in an eternal shroud, oblivious to wrong or right.
As stars shine from your vacant eyes, the cherubs whisper in your ear.
One speaks the truth, the other lies; you listen, but still fail to hear.

They place your arrows in a row, tipped with the juice of passion's fruit;
You draw back on your cupid bow as, aimlessly, you point and shoot.
Around your shoulders, doubt and trust are caught in an erratic dance.
Within a shower of cosmic dust, they're lost to whimsical romance.

Hope brings to you her cherished dreams and leaves them nestling at your feet.
You weigh them all...or so it seems...and sort the bitter from the sweet.
As Melancholy stands in line to plead his cause, you make him wait;
Then say, "It's no concern of mine, go take your grievance up with Fate."

You set the guidelines and the rules; you are the Mistress of the Game.
The prudent and the reckless fools, to you, are one and all the same.
Decrees of reason and of rhyme, in essence, you don't understand.
The logic of a place or time is trifling as a grain of sand.

You are the force which, long ago, once launched a thousand sailing ships;
You are the rose-pink afterglow of kisses lingering on the lips.
Your wistful, enigmatic smile would challenge any work of art.
You charm, you dazzle and beguile, then strike with fascination's dart.

You promise with no guarantee; you never have and never will.
Your priceless gift, bestowed for free: a craving that can bless or kill.
But you will never fall from grace, your praises have been sung too long.
So many yearn for your embrace, oblivious to right or wrong.

You spread your softly-sighing wings to fan the flames of warm desire,
In ignorance of how it stings when apathy consumes the fire.
You're unaware of guilt or blame; in your plan, wisdom plays no part.
Despite the splendor of your name, Blind Angel, you have little heart.

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