Monday, August 05, 2002
I was stumbling around Blogaria this morning, and I discovered something at Halley's Comment which reminded me of a poem I wrote long before the Angel named Curtis flew into my life.
Cupid is a guerrilla fighter.
He is not some cute little fat kid with wings of an angel.
He does not float on clouds
And shoot lacy little arrows.
People do not live happy ever after.
No, Cupid is a mean, sneaky little bastard!
He creeps up behind people
While they are tending their own business.
He stabs them in the heart
With a rusty knife
Over and over and over again.
Cupid knows what he is doing.
Love hurts like hell when it is not returned.
Only the most fortunate ones
Are speared with the same arrow
Because they are already close to each other,
Not because Cupid planned it that way.
The people who live happily ever after
Are Cupid's mis-shots, his mistakes.
Cupid, I hate you!