You find the beauty of a flower
In the petals that you see.
But that’s mere pigment, shape and style,
A prostitute for bees.
You exclaim ‘how pretty! oh how fine!’
At a face, a body or nose.
At the greed or luck of inheritance
Of substance’s foes.
And to this beauty you declare your love
In breathless dreamy prose,
You whisper life and shout unfair
When all its beauty goes.
And having wasted your intransience
In this love of the façade,
You sign your life into the breeze,
A signature not made.
© 2012 Thomas Halvë
N.B. My second poem that I have written in the ten years since I left school. I wrote it to enter a poetry challenge at http://clownponders.wordpress.com