Almost

What Beauty rests upon my brow
In thoughts
The kind of Beauty brought to lip
By ancient artisans of words
And song
I am but a lowly knave when in such company.

And yet
Still I try to form the syllables
Around the sounds that feel to my tongue
Like her breath upon my cheek..
Or the tips of her fingers across my chest.
Can such a tender thing be so powerful
As to reset the beating of my heart?
The rhythm of my lungs?

Her smile reaches across the scope and span
Of my existence
Opening up for me worlds known only to my
Imagined travels
How rich and varied these are .. Unbelievable to most..

And yet
She dances upon their edges in a balancing act
That defies my sense of predictable gravity
And I am lost to the sensation.

How brave is Beauty
For to fall is to be damned
The edges stained by the blood of innocents
Their future washed away in their own ichor
Drenched assumptions.
How naive
And brutal a fate for such as these
Sacrificed on the alter of my own inevitable cruelty ..
My petulant demandings for Tribute.
How quickly they burn away like paper dolls
In the fire of my self-righteous indignation for their weakness.

Still.. with bandaged feet and fingers she dances
Caught in some kind of masochistic frenzied purpose that
I can not understand nor barely can I trust.
Yet I find myself enraptured by her faith
That she will survive ..
And .. Almost ... I believe in her.

©2009 Written for the sake of .. Beauty