The Beast
Of what good is beauty, without ugly beast
Tearing flesh fully faced, to submerge itself
In identity found within human mind.
A bulwark built to feed darkest desire,
Hiding behind thought and from which we shoot
Slaying love in the battlefield cross-fire.
A mirrored refraction of life seen cracked
Through lens attuned solely to oneself
With arbiter's cloak clutched tight to throat.
Is not Beauty built upon the Beast's face,
Are they not one and the same, in Death,
And we who breathe them to miserly Life?
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