Beautifully Poem by Charles Monroe

What is missing from my night
Something Beautiful to write
What is missing from my day
Something Beautiful to say
Beauty seems so far and distant
Almost seeming non-existent
Dressed in silk
Black as guilt
Or colored milk
She is beautiful regardless
And her room adorned of starlets
The desire of all artists
Patron Saint of timid harlots is she.
The Mother Goddess of all talents
The remainder of all balance
She is beauty,
She is Beautiful,
She is fire; only colder
In the heart of her beholder,
She is passion's rightful owner,
Beauty.
Unexcited, yet delighted
Arrives late and uninvited
Her regalia ultraviolet
Baby blue and infrared
She is ice, but only hotter
Just above the boil of water
She is everything and nothing
She is kindness in a war.
In the nuclear debris
Of some certain war to be,
When all trees and flowers fall
She’s the white rose rising tall
Through the fiery sting of snow
Where there’s nothing she is all;
She is beautiful to see
Beauty she will always be
Celebrated,
Beautifully.
P.X
8/11/13