Like thrill
from thunder
and streaks of lightening
beauty of dried roses
and twisted thorny twigs
splendour of
fire lit mountains
against the cold night sky
wish beauty visited
me
Not like in
the pleasing
coo of a baby
colourful splatter
on an artist’s canvas
exquisiteness
of a fine lady’s china
or a well painted face
but in decayed trees
covered with mosses
small white flowers
growing on a tomb
and candle melting into
perfect beauty
unconsciously
where it stood
