Sonnet

My stomach is digesting butterflies
Leaves are flying by through winds set on high
Disappearances are fading away
Just like shadows run away from the light
There is no trace of more obligation
The cheating karma is too wrong to die
Another average man is here to stay
The man's heart strings are pulled by a black kite
He's adapted to a scarecrow nation
His pulse beats slowly as he waits for time
Even though his chances look dim and gray
For now he's lost his wanted Tanzanite
And has accepted his revelation
Of the myth of true infatuation

(10 Syllables to each line, 14 lines)