The Dilettante

Oh the thrill of being aloof, untouchable by the mundane The Dilettante loves this place The throngs of people to wander through Sampling strengths and weaknesses Always looking to bring down the haughty But to build a desire in the weak to have that power over their passions to create that allure at will That is his calling. Many a supple soul has fallen into his eyes Those lips that speak so softly Whispering things the heart longs to hear He knows that he is missing something The puzzle of his heart incomplete The pieces not quite fitting He continues his quest through the crowds in the square Until he finally finds whispering eyes and falls into them.