The Beautiful Man

This is a continuation of the poem that Intern Hannah began writing. If you missed the first half of this poem, you can find it below this one.

 “Can…can I please leave?”

 

And there was nothing

Not a word, not a sound

The crowd parted ways as the beautiful man –

– as a man walked through

 

His throne was not gold, but

a dirty, tarnished bronze the sun seemed to weep

over as the words left his mouth.

“Were the cities better,” The masses wondered aloud

“if the beautiful man were run out of town?”

 

The wars would become epic,

epic poems to their ears, yet wouldn’t contain triumphs

only mythologies of fear.

The spectators became Narcissus, drowning in lies

obsessed with some beauty no one could ever define.

 

They starved on perfection,

their admiration ate them alive.

How could something be beautiful

when the term is so loosely defined

 

So the man walked through the crowd

because he was only a man, a man on a pedestal,

worshipped through thick and thin.

You see, he was never beautiful just an echo of lies

A mirage of beauty in our dull, dreary lives.

 

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