The Travail of Beauty

by Dayran

 

 

 

 

Beauty claims to stand on its own,

Such physical nature that denies needs,

To top it up, add a rose and beautify,

In the furtherance of its cause.

No, no, no...beauty needs no such,

It is its own task master, extraordinaire,

Spineless perhaps, boneless maybe,

Maybe just a sponge of tissue filled,

With the magic of adoration, clever,

Will ask you for all, such as it deserves,

No more, no less than what is just,

Till the man is but a ghost of himself,

Without will nor a semblance of pride,

Totally given to beauty and its percepts,

Unchallenged in the world and even more,

Where challenged will extract a price,

Much higher than most care to give.

But you'll never deny its rose of boldness,

In its stride, in the fullness of bosom,

Till the man may beg to be given a chance,

To live its temptation and desire,

And to make of it, a will for himself,

By the life of the man and his conventions.

 ' La beauté d'avant de vie, ' my precious,

Till we meet gain, when all is beauty.

 

 

 

* Pic - Natasha Jane Richardson (11 May 1963 " 18 March 2009)