Sonnet 1

The stupid are wisest in a matter beyond the knowledge of all. Easily their faults become diamond rings-tactlessly they speak; with no intention to shatter glass hearts, repaired by the non stop chatter about its so called perfection. Blindly she looks past me, longing to helplessly place her head on its gold plated platter. No matter- for I, the supposed wise one will continually wait for her. Un-phased, un-deterred, with a hope that she may, one day, see through its disguise. The dust of angels is a sure killer, because of my love, she ties both our ropes.