PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Beauty, different to all, present only in the eyes of those beholding such perception?

Far beyond the vision, past the physical nature, within the depths of man?s soul is clarity achieved and thus it is seen?

A new prospective gained defining what is beauty.



The Beast, a savage animosity lacking such compassion and human goodness, the unspoken deviant nature, a dark soul, one forgoing the true essence of the beauty within.

Deep within the counterpart of truths told and trusts shared is your ally, complementing his beast to your beauty?

A new prospective gained defining what is beast.



Combining the two, coupling of the opposites in hopes of enriching beneficial results, a joining destined by similar unions preceding the current to result in true turmoil.

Approaching fast the realization of the downfall arrives, most suitable to all, a gentle form of dissention is wished for, yet not here, not for me?

Never able to fall meekly, not then, not mow; my weakness lies, within the extreme harshness the fall, always consistent in falling ever so hard.



Beauty, that which is present within the depths of man?s soul, unscathed in the heart, seeking that which does not wish to be sought, a curse.

The curse, my curse to steadily remain the seeker, rather than the sought, the hunter, rather than the prey, the dreamer, rather than the realist?

Realistic dreams remaining fictional, yet through them survival is obtained, and life lived.



Eyes shut, closed tightly your face engulfs my vision, yet is marred by the reflection of the truths once told and trusts previously shared, visualizing the image of the beast.

Thoughts of you gently lead into a peaceful slumber, a slumber, desirable to remain constant never allowing the beast to mar the beauty known to be present?

Solely in that dream, is the beast forgone and the beauty, that which is yours revealed.



A dream, a lie able to be briefly lived, the essence of a dream?s definition, a desirable fiction; for beauty otherwise unseen resides within, and remains safe and whole.

Truly a dream one never wishes to wake from, never desiring to leave the perfection, yet departure is inevitable; awaking the mind forcing the conscious to take over, drowning out the fakeness covering the beast within the soul, within your soul?

Time spent in this portrait of fiction, time well wasted in the very essence of happiness un-experienced otherwise.



Reality in itself, a nightmare desirable to escape from, a world to which the dream is preferred, and would be decisions of preferable residence made; options not offered.

The real, the conscious, residence of your beast and its destruction of the beauty which is mine; unyielding I choose the dream to be my reality, choosing the world in which I live, choosing the dream over the real?

I need not dismay, the real is simply the nightmare, the true fiction, and the dream reality.



When I wake from this nightmare, that which is your reality I will be happy, asleep but none the less happy, dreaming and living with your otherwise unseen beauty, residing within my perception of that which is truly you once more.

My reality, you, the only reality worth living, and thus I am left daunt and fearless.

For when I wake from this nightmare, I will be happy, asleep, but happy?



Thus the beast is reality, and The Beauty, My Dream?