Psyche

It's terza rima, yay! The Italian form is one of my favorites, but it's pretty hard to write in because English doesn't have as many rhymes as Italian. So if the poem below seems fake/forced/any other sort of bad, that's my excuse.
Cupid and Psyche is my absolute favorite Greek myth. In Greek, Psyche means soul, or butterfly.



Fair Psyche lies beside her husband-god
Afraid to be so close to one so great
She lights her torch, her higher self forgot.

Celestial Cupid lies, her loving mate,
His open eyes all full of wounded trust
He leaves her to be torn and tried by fate.

Good Psyche weeps, her lovely spirit crushed
By her own doubt, and her lost god. She knows
Not how to find him, only that she must.

A lifetime passes; the girl's heart bleeds, but does
The thousand heavy tasks required by Love
She mourns her lot, but walks the path she chose.

Her trials complete, her virtue proven above
Mere mortal women, Psyche finally kisses
Her Cupid again, he leads her to taste of

Sweet nectar and ambrosia, and she is
Immortal and eternal, like the stars-
Her love forever hers, she always his.