Sonnet I: No macabre account of disease-ridden lovers

No macabre account of disease-ridden lovers, 
Nor of their sad, untimely demise,
Where one or the other is left to suffer,
And sobbing is sole fate of eyes. 

No triumph-tale of a bourgeois financer,
No 'one idea can change the world',
No narratives of celebrity cancer,
and their journey unfurled.

Oh bring me back the verse of bard,
Or chronicles of the things bygone,
Of myths, monsters and magnitude canard,
And laments for the poor Adon.

For as long as these tales will be uttered,
The eternal joy in mind cannot be altered.