by Nick Gisburne
The beautiful will always be destroyed,
By jealousy, by bitterness, by time.
Appalling, too invasive to avoid,
The bells of cold decay forever chime.
Too stubborn to assimilate the change,
The turn towards descent, that subtle shift,
Directs the mind to try to rearrange
The picture, as its form begins to drift.
But age is too relentless to resist;
Emotion only hastens the advance,
And, when perfection ceases to exist,
For what was lost there is no second chance.
The beautiful inevitably fall,
Their time to shine astonishing, but small.
