The Beauty in The Beast - Poetry

 

There is a beast inside that woman.

It Cages her in, and forces her into the dark.

Through the window if it’s home I see:

Her lost, forgotten, silent, and sad frame,

In a sea of the nearly dead.

Forgotten by a son, not her own.

Silent in her isolation, and sadder still,

Without her husband, Lost for years.

A great woman, that’s what she was,

Caring, giving, warm and unique. Fiercely intelligent.

Her mind was as sharp as broken glass.

The photographic memory, The shorthand and long…

They are all gone now. A cloud has rolled in, a device of the beast.

The diaries she wrote, The trinkets she kept,

The heirlooms she treasured. They are all gone now.

All sold or binned, By the son she loves,

As if he were, her own.

Though my name she has forgotten,

and the details slip through her grasp,

When I visit, her eyes, they say: ‘I know that boy!’

And as we talk, the beast and the cloud are beat back,

And she can remember, my weekly visits, and the fun we shared.

One look around, the place called home.

One step into her shoes, reveals that the beast, is not an enemy.

It is a blessing, upon her. And the pain I see, is just my own.

For she knows, that this home is a hotel, all her needs are catered for.

She has no responsibilities, but also no need to fear.

Her life is simple. And the ease is her reward, For a life well lived.

There is a beast, inside that woman.

It makes life painless, and is easing her into the dark.