The Beast (illustration)
The Beast (title)
The Beast became a Beast by living too long alone
Not caring how his beard or his fingernails had grown
At first ignoring mirrors, then shunning them in shame
He prowled the house in solitude, forgetting his own name
He turned his family photos, one by one, to face the walls
He ceased to clear the cobwebs from the corners of his halls
He starved the phone to silence, and let the doorbell die
Then lingered by the windows, and watched the world outside
At moments, bitter moments, of desolate regret
He thought of all he’d given up when he became La Bête
Of all the world had promised him when he had been a child
Of all the world had done to him to make him civilised
Oh, to be a rose, at once wild and innocent!
So giving of its beauty, of its splendour and its scent
So pure and so profound, most perfect of all forms
No one ever asked the rose to justify its thorns
Copyright © 2016 Murray Ewing.