The Beauty of Pain

Contrasting comparison, make sense to any else?

Beauty is like a rose.

It begins with an innocent unopened bud,

a pretty little thing

that begs no harm.

But then it grows.

Petals fold and bloom and burst into life,

glorious and adoring,

they smile at the sun.

 

And then it dies.

 

Red turns to brown, and black,

a velvet jacket, moth-eaten and stained.

Beauty dies like a rose.

 

Pain doesn't.

It ebbs and flows like the tide.

It washes a wave of sickness.

The initial punch in the gut passes,

it fades,

but it throbs, like a cold, cold heart

that pumps bitter poison through my veins.

It lingers,

a dull ache that sounds in the deep, dark places,

in the deep, dark chasms I feel it like a drum.

It throbs.

 

It lives.

Reviews

[ANTO]

Its better to be alive with the fire of inner turmoil and pain than dead with the most shallow heart and the beauty of Helen Of Troy. Its better if you have both afflictions lol but yeah I'll keep the former thanks very much. Great explorative piece my my fellow gael.

[Cambion]

The more refined a beauty, the less it may appeal to the common man. The rose of a woman's beauty doesn't die until her body does, though it grows higher on the branch as she ages.

As for your poem, you've created a visceral and compelling piece that speaks to not only the perilous aspects of beauty, but the intoxicating qualities of pain. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it and encourage you to continue your craft; you're getting quite good at it!

[Lizardo]

This is amazing poem and the description is really good, I specially like the first stanza about how beautiy is like a rose but then you show us the: ''Then it dies'' It's like elevating hopes and then crushing them,
That is really awesome. I really like this poem.
Great piece of work!