Is There, In Truth, No Beauty

 

I am the dry path

Sat between

The first rain drops

 

I am the dandelion

Dancing in a field

Missed by the scythe

 

I am the spark

That jumps

From flint to straw

 

I am the breaking wave

Crashing up against

Deserted beaches

 

I am the words

Caught in the throat

Of dirty liars

 

I am the light

Crawling through

Drawn curtains

 

I am the dusk

Creeping across

Summer lawns

 

I am nature

Doing the things

That nature does

 

When all is ash

And destruction

I will be here

 

The dying embers

Raked over

Until they cool

 

A dead daisy

Resting on a bed

Of destruction

 

Is there

In truth

No beauty