Peel the face away and
look beneath, finding no
beauty, that myth dispelled,
another confirmed that yes,
we are all ugly underneath,
wet and rotten, messy things.
Grace falters, acuity fades,
style is lost to time, substance
corroding and becoming
inconstant.
All the fairest statues are
but hammerfalls away from
dust, but centuries away from
ruin, and these are the more
lasting treasures, perhaps
lingering long beyond
creation’s touch.
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Somewhere Beyond the Wheel
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Note: I taught a poetry class at Fyrecon this afternoon, and we did a few challenge poems during the participation segment of the class. Th...
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