Beauty is a curse my beloved.
Beauty blinds me unto those caring.
Never knowing if they see me.
Or perhaps shadows of former ideals.
Beauty is fleeting, and nevermore adoration.
Once perfection is achieved, it runs.
It runs unto a new course.
Once it was voluptuously large, loving.
Recently it was thin, angry, obedient.
Redefining beauty, it is myself beautifully.
“I grow very fond of this place, and it certainly has a desolate, grim beauty of its own, that has a curious fascination for me.” – Theodore Roosevelt on the Bad Lands
Beauty is often a reflection of horror.
Thank you for the challenge Unbolted!
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