Sonnet 0.1

How lovely wretched humanity sings
songs of her despair, how beauty flows from
the lips of her sorrow. Unworthy kings
seek her sweet air, as in this interim
their word is law – but in forever her
songs shall reign.  How I wish I could describe
her tune, the melody of her silent purr!
No words could recreate her soul, prescribe
her medicine! We who can hear her cry,
fondle these breasts of her lips, close our hearts
to her song. Yet, our end is also nigh,
for soon our souls shall be made into parts –
do we not see ourselves in her lacking,
glance into the mirror of our coming?

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