Beauty in the beast

 

Beauty in the beast

She might have seen the beauty in the beast who prayed for her affection for so long. She might have heard his pretty words, at least … If only he had written them in song. There lived a silent poet underneath the muted suit of armour that he wore, but only near his death did love bequeath the nerve to write what wasn’t said before. A never-written poem is a waste, to hold the tongue of love is, clearly, sin. The sweetest words acquire the foulest taste when seasoned with a love that might have been. His poetry, his eloquence and light was wasted on the cold and lonely night. ~Dean Neighbors~