Beauty and the Beast
Some stories get their thorns beneath your skin
drip poison, taint the pathways of your brain
seduce you with emotion, haul you in.
So long-ago yet here again, that pain
of Beauty roused by Beast she aches to tame
her love will change him: same old tale again.
A lion drunkard, wild-man, crazed for fame,
she loathes him first, rejects him, then she’s snared.
He hooks her first with pity, traps with shame.
She can ‘get’ him, their twin-souls are paired
their love is karmic and his touch is fire
his pelt ignites her, reason is impaired.
He’ll hit her, she’ll forgive him, then admire
his pledge to alter, beast to butterfly
he flaunts bright wings, all to inspire desire.
Such feats of transformation are all lies,
aspects may change: the place, the girl, the time,
but end the same and Beauty always dies.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Nick Browne would
be pleased to hear them.