passing the blame

If love looks not with eyes, but with the mind,
Why isn’t cupid painted blind?
If puppy love is a passing craze,
Why don’t we doubt his baby ways?

The face of a child, in angel form
The one from whom our problems are born.
His lack of knowledge is clear to see,
But we can’t help but quote ‘he’s picking on me’.

A symbolic being with power galore
A child who they say controls who we adore,
An arrow in one hand, whilst holding a bow,
Wearing naught but a cloth to cover below,

He gets blamed for the mishaps, and each broken heart.
When a solid relationships torn apart,
We all point the finger we pass on the blame,
Whilst we know deep down, it’s us that’s playing the game