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Image for the poem the myth of beauty

the myth of beauty



who is the fool who would put you on a pedestal?
or worship at your bare feet?
such feet should be made to crush rojo grapes:
wine for the satyrs.

come with the mystery of your eyes,
your lush arrogance, your fragrance stolen
from vanillin & coumarin, or the flowers
that die for your vanity.

come with the curving & full temptation of your
flesh, smooth & soft; un-muscled arms,
legs not made for marching, but for dancing.
challenge the desire of the male beast, hard & hairy.

make a pretty bed, & lay waste to the mightiest
warriors, who crumble like children
under the feather of your touch.
shear the dark locks of Samson.

am I the cuckold, that I must sacrifice my lust
at the altar of your corrupted temple?
men have made songs of it. drunk & rowdy,
they scandalize it in redlight taverns.

you ascend to the tenuous threads of goddess
by the myth of your own beauty –
but I am the savage who swings the blade
of your demise, & I cut the strings…

I would bruise your body first, woman,
then suck the pain from each blue scar.




Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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