Friday, May 25, 2012

Dangerous Beauty

Softly falls the light of day upon your
Tear strewn face. A veil of darkness becomes
Your body more highly than the great chore
Of clothing; and unburdened you may run.
But such a vision of grace and beauty
Is not what I see here before mine eyes;
For where I hoped to see a flowered tree
In the middle of spring, therein now lies,
Fallen to the ground, bark and all, sorrow's
Handiwork. Yet stranger still, to borrow
An old fashioned line, a maid with a sword
Now becomes the sight, is beauties reward;
For what is beautiful was slighted hard,
This dangerous beauty; a song for bards.

                              Dangerous Beauty, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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