This is Beautiful: An Autology

To wear delusion, thick as winter cloak,

He masters deepest self and nakedness,

Extremist dreams and strongest breath invokes...

Earnestly robed he wove lines of this quest,

Measures his threads, of sense and life precise,

Patterns for each and every comely inch,

Exposed upon the beaten street of vice,

Regaled so golden, silky, bow and cinch,

Openly strides the scene, with cocky pride,

“Remember me,” he calls and cries, in vain

Soliloquy of growing child inside...

Now, in public dissected, stripped, remains,

Every silent reflection, caught, undone,

Will be, in time, a simple failure, come.

Perhaps in making such delusion real,

Over content, a style of truth reveals

Every extent to which the world is lies,

Made in beholders blinded, loving eyes.

Rick Dove (c) 2016