What Beauty Lies Here

Mon, 04/07/2014 - 17:41 -- Jordann

What Beauty Lies Here?


 


What beauty lies here in the aura of a weed?


 In a contorted parasite,


Who strangles existing flowers,


Manipulates others, and infests the land?


A jabbing offender


 that infects other plants?


An ugly pest that provokes despair to the weak,


And chokes the strength from all?


 


O annoying pseudo flower,


With hands that stretch to shove others away,


And create jungles of disorder.


You pestilence, who sprawls along the ground,


 Prospering without end.


Dull aggressor who dances in the wind,


 And wails the song of sorrow,


While tossing your prosperity about.


 


Ever more persistent do you become.


Ever more aggressive must I become.


As the scorching sun beats down,


And the waves of pestilent insects raid,


And the bruising of the wind,


And hurricanes of rain proceed,


Still you live on.


I must destroy, for what beauty lies here?


 


With the skill of a killer,


I shred your leaves, I tear your stem,


I pummel you to the earth,


And trod you underfoot.


I crush your fair body, and mangle your roots.


You dare to survive, but I smack you down.


You stagger, and I strangle.


I will destroy you, for what beauty lies here?


 


As you quiver in the cold,


Your life is smothered, all hope is razed.


Any glimpse of peace is demolished.


All happiness is subdued,


And your existence is degraded to nothing.


All alone you stand


Daring to curse the world with your presence


For what beauty lies here?


 


With your last breath drawn,


The intone of death is sung.


Victory at last.


 As you shrivel and fall,


A quick second glance


Almost to be mistaken.


What beauty lies here?


A rose above all sweetness.


 


Could it be? No, how could it?


Yet it is, the weed that once was


Is more truly a rose.


And now it is lies mangled


Dead and alone.


Yes indeed there was beauty there,


But there it lies now


Dead and alone.


 


What would I change might you ask?


I would change the cruel oppressor


That dares destroy the lives


Of the sweet roses of the garden.


I would change the blind fool


Who naively searches for the perfect rose,


Only to be disappointed


With the not so perfect,


And discards it as a weed.


 


For beauty lies all around.


The garden blossoms with roses


Of all sizes, smells, and color.


The variety is sweet, unique.


The variety brings life to existence.


O reader, if this is true,


Why destroy such beauty and majesty?


 

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