Poetry-Thing Thursday: Beauty-Suicide

In the West,
with the rest,
should’ve guessed,
but was blessed,
on the edge,
of time’s ledge.

So indeed,
we concede,
that belief,
is a leaf,
on a wind,
in a bend.

What a task,
could the mask,
upon such a face,
of such a race,
contrive to hide,
beauty-suicide?

Perhaps when,
“we were then,”
is a thing,
to seldom sing,
and recompense
becomes suspense.

We must wonder if she’ll ever come back.

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