Now, Mother, I have served your bitter spite,
And through me will the poisons ever run
As you recline indifferent to the sight
Of anguish in your ever-faithful son.
I beg release from this tormentous state
To know no more the face, the name, the sound
Of Psyche, nor the dysempereal weight
Of love unsought, but ill and hapless found.
In crushing depths beneath the ruthless sea,
Attenuated vastness of the sky–
I seek now that I simply cease to be,
My immortality cast by.
Confounded longings every day consume.
Eternal void and hopeless eons loom.
-
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Real Teaching 
As I’ve noted before, I love sonnets and am so impressed by those who can write them with perfection. I am worried, though, by the content. Are you okay?
Thank you for the compliment! As I often tell students, the poet is not always the speaker. Cupid’s anguish here does not represent my state of mind–at least not my current state of mind. Thank you for the concern, however. This Cupid and Psyche cycle is a fun little exercise drawing from the old story, with a few liberties of my own.