Classic Poem

The perfect gauze can irragulate prophecy
'Pon serious tempo, blame serene ratio
As string-adhered charm does to love!
The Venus hid 'midst the repelled poets,
Drilling their brains in beaten headaches.
Whistling of a being is coarse to insects
As lulling indolence to impression.
Content hath found the Bible a waste;
Thought has its independence, but
When displayed seeks another to
Cover its dignity of creation for sustenance.
O life, no sacrifice for thee but thine
Own wound of repulsive pleasures within,
Through the deep valleys of glorifying mirth, my soul ray hence!