What blasted thing did I erringly unloose?
What bane, what blight afflicts my will,
That now I come across so - beastly, broken
A wingless bird of night, perched still?
A wingless bird of night, perched still,
Or the similitude of such a one, no less
Defaced by dint of its own doing,
Left earth-bound, its deformity to address
For it deigns to call my predicament but so
Make no mistake - deformity not so as to imply
To nature's hand, rather to my own volition
Or lack thereof - In the many times I did comply
To the wayward, wailing, wonderful winds
Make no mistake - 'tis not but my transgressive flight
That is my bane, that is my blight
Yet, such a discovery with every Sun I make-
- What say you?
Is that their cosmetic console? Their somnolent monotone?
That 'To err is human, to forgive divine'?
Blasphemy against the function of man, no more
For from many a cup I've sipped holy wine
When in the best of body and mind
And on many a flesh I've engorged myself
All in the best of body and mind
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