Beauty
and the beast, focus on the beast 1956
Shame is a rationalization of a rationale.
Beware the truth. You may fall in love with it.
My deep inside demands a
want of a friend who can say I love you,
but really in the way of self-loving men.
To share a glass,
to feel close but without the young burn
but instead with a continued yet complacent newness
accepting the passing of each other yet freed from it in the sharing of
a toast,
“If one be to end this day, let it be thee who die instead of me.”
So raise your glass,
cry a tear for a perfect imperfection,
cherish a future memory you hope never to need.
Preserve a thought.
Weigh the scale and pledge with me an only commonness of toast,
“If one be to end this day, let it be thee who die instead of me.”
So that battlement and
barrage can coexist and not between,
but within our closeness, each recognizing a growing difference
yet builds not hate such wills to tolerate all but weakness.
“If one be to end this day, let it be thee who die instead of me.”
Always to know
that mutual strength of love is growing far faster than separate ideas
or separate knowledge of each other, but still aware that what is may
not always be.
“If one be to end this day, let it be thee who die instead of me.”
So raise your glass,
cry a tear for a perfect imperfection,
cherish a future memory you hope never to need.
Preserve a thought.
Weigh the scale and pledge with me an only commonness of toast,
“If one be to end this day, let it be thee who die instead of me.”
I met my wife to be.
Soft she wakes,
throws a petal and spies a demon with a knife to snip her newest bud.
A rose looks at a man.
We became acquainted.
Toes are so intriguing.
In what direction do their projections run?
If these projections were objects,
how we would stumble and fall
until
we learned to use them as bats for baseball’s,
as stilts to walk on
and as grabbers for giant barrels.
What fun they would be
and how we wouldn’t notice them.
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