Her Tears of Beauty

Look beyond the glass walls of her body

And you’ll see the torment suffocating her heart.

Her beauty has been painted with scars,

A new source of painful memory.

Your hauntingly dark eyes stare deep into hers,

Watch as her tears melt the color of her eyes.

Her tears trickle down the rest of her body,

Melting whatever color composed her beauty,

Leaving her entirely grey and damaged.

Nothing but streaks and scars remain from

The violence you’ve imposed.

Your hand has silenced her long enough,

For her scars mean survival,

And you’re trapped in this world,

Lonely and fading.

Beauty and Chaos

The World is a painting I exist in,

Yet I don’t even know its Creator.

It’s a work of Art that is never permanent,

Amending itself with escalating beauty and chaos.

I stand in an open field to view

The evolving beauty.  It’s like

The colors bleed into each other

To create an entirely new painting to awe.

The colors of the World begin to melt.

The paint falls to the surface I stand upon

Like rain that cleanses the World

From all its chaos.

The surface is flooding with a concoction

Of beauty and chaos.  The pool’s volume

Continues to grow until my feet are lifted

And I’m swimming in the paint.

The World is looking white

As if the Creator is beginning a new project.

The paint continues to melt until I’m treading

In the pool of beauty and chaos.

This is not the end of the World,

The Artist wants us to truly engage with the Art.

I look upon the ghostly white environment,

And then slowly fall until my head is submerged in the paint.

I’m not fading into the darkness,

I am drowning in Art.

The pool of beauty and chaos drowns me,

Dying in Art and not a World of nothing.