He denies me Beauty
Despising me for my Love of It
yet but a twisted whimper of wrath
is his claim upon a fame.
Should thou peer keenly
upon the wrinkle set over brow
what once was mistook
for mark of great thought
shall prove to be naught
but crevasse of envy
pressed ever more deeply
‘neath beguiled weight
of self-doubts.
Why then should I
invite upon mine own mind
the burdens of thee
whom would seek to shackle me
within fortress walls
bereft of Life?
For is it not true
that your denial of a Thing
can no more cease the existence
of that Thing
than it can prevent
my Love upon It?
I will not fret you further
in these matters and Ways
yet will choose to full Heartedly Embrace
all of my Greatest and Truest Loves
wasting not yet another moment
indeed many sunrises of moments
in a denial of That which is found
pleasurable unto Mine Very Soul
so that you might find a small
indeed dismally small comfort
through your banal denials
of Beauty and Love
so that one’s self
finds preservation within
a misery of righteous Wrongs.
© Sharon Brodbeck 10.15.2022
Into the Mystic 