Tis not fated O Cupid, that I must be struck by a blind archer.
Thy cursèd bow which stringets forth pain and anguish 'sorrupted' in false hope of 'love'.
If love be sweet and filled with joy, why thus its carrier be a weapon of war?
O thou disguised soldier, spreading war in such cherished form
Changing battle arenas from soil watered with blood and sweat, to homes filled with broken hearts.
Thus thy arrow really pierce the heart to spread love or does it just create cracks so it can easily be broken?