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Drop Dead Beautiful

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There exists another side
To the conventional 'beautiful'
Often dreaded and shunned by the mass,
And slurred by common misnomers
Like gory, devastating and monstrous.

Who could possibly deny
The appalling beauty of the warm crimson blood
As it trickles down the human hide
Like the perennial creek that flows down the hill,
Riddling the asphalt beneath the feet
With shimmering bright red polka dots,
Etching the last portrait of life.

Who could possibly challenge
The thrusting beauty of the blue stalwart waves
As they race the brick clad face of our earth
Like an omnipotent army that was bid to annex
A crumbling empire of metallic chaos,
Salvaging just a blessed handful,
Coiling back into the ocean like a charmer's serpent.

Who could possibly belittle
The fiery beauty of the rippling golden flame
As it billows from an ember to the heights of the zenith
Like the unfurling wings of the Hell's furious dragon,
Devouring those who thwart its gait,
Belching out the singed flesh in its black breath;
A tantrum soothed only by the Heavens.

Is this what they call drop dead beautiful?
The sinful beauty stays faithful to the accusation,
Doing grand justice to the age-old lore -
'Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder',
For the ominous spectator is the Destroyer Himself.



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