What is beauty?

Is a rose beautiful?
Tender and fragrant
in crimson magnificence
Gentle in appearance
and fierce to the touch
when handled carelessly
Soft petals gracing satin sheets
Brilliant purple memories
as a garden for the eyes
A destination past
A point in time lost
You watched her walk
across them as hot coals
A pathway to a question
tossed lovingly
Creating trails on bedroom floors
By candles like fireflies
lighting perfect

And what is beauty?

When the roses
in the purple vase
gracing your bed
start to wither
and become brittle
and arid thoughts
become thirst for whispers
saying goodbye
As you open the window
scattering the remnants
to the winds
Does the beauty remain
a vision in the mind?
And does that image
bring you joy or sorrow?
Does it become something new
in it’s slow decay?
The scent of sweet releasing
becomes as loss
upon a windswept day
And what of rose tattoos?
Melted muted tones into flesh
creating a path to mischief
Artistic etchings making a map
for imaginations
And as the years pass
the colors fade
and wrinkled skin becomes as vines
to replace the delicate artwork
Who will appreciate the beauty then?
Will the person so adorned
be tossed away
as a withered flower
fragmented and drifting
on a breeze alone?
Who will tend her garden
in those golden years?
And so where is beauty?
And who is beautiful?
And what determines
the value of our vision
or the power
in the memory
of a rose?

TM DiSarro

©2020 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

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