My Beautiful Dead Girl

Poem about beauty so powerful it cannot be killed

Haunted eyes

wrapped in misery.

You are already dead,

so why should you feel pain?

Pain is your purgatory

little girl, a grand gift

from scales that can never

be balanced in your favor.

Haunted eyes they may be,

but I see defiance, strength,

lingering deep, always

ready to rise to the surface.

Never did death look so beautiful

A perfection in form chiseled

from stone beaten up and torn

down by the elements.

You wear your cloak well,

dark and tear stained, wrapped

tight around a body that

still flies free.

You are my beautiful dead girl.

with cold hands clenching tight around

a warm heart

that beats just for you.

by Philip Wardlow