Midnight in Paris.


Beauty held sacred is only ashes

when the flames of passion burn low. 

Better beauty be beheld from afar,

unadulterated and unaltered

simply presented upon an altar.

But those blessed with beauty beyond

are but mere mortals masquerading

as gods in whose image we all are

and yet still we cannot touch the truth

for fear of tarnishing it with deceit. 

So we receive the receipt of regret

for moments not spent, sadly shelved. 

I crave your beauty, your mask

but I am too hard and too strong

I will shatter your creation, I will

break your mask and expose you. 

Can your heart handle the hurt

and can you sing in the sunlight

when all you’ve known is rain?

Already you reign in my heart, but

still you are wet behind the ears. 

Years remain between us, years. 

Sadness lingers in the passing silence,

as sweet wedding bells toll empty

but the fear of denial died in death

so let us dine, deny death and live. 

Let us love, even if beauty broken be

let it be, for so it goes i suppose. 

Let beauty rest in barren grave

and let us blaze in blissful ugliness, 

dance the titillating tango of time

and forgetting briefly that reality exists. 

Let us spent this midnight in Paris. 


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