Over the sweet grass wafted darkness that in spiraling eddies danced so nimbly
Across the sward, toward the tall, ivy festooned tower wherein rested beauty fair
Beauty rested, grew restless, awoke, crying out at darkness, proceeding to choke
Foulness surrounded, seeping in, burning acridly in nostrils, filling up her skull
The world was on fire, as it had been before and would be again before day’s end
Looking down, coughing and red faced, but weeping in pity, Beauty saw the pain
Of Creatures and creatures frying, wailing, dancing ghastly measures in the flame
Too high up to reach them, too high up to join them, Beauty honored them well
By standing watch over the agony wrought by their own foolishness and greed
They must have their swords, must they not? To make them, they must have flame.
Swords not for protection, but for threats and the procurement of ill-gotten gains
Always they sought with their weapons to reach, to overtake, the looming tower
It was above their heads, claimed to be of untold riches, and this they must have
And in their wanting, time and time again, came their self-inflicted punishments
“Above our heads!” they cried “You are above our heads, so must you truly fall.”
Beauty did not tremble, neither in fear or pity, though sadness spilled from eyes
But, as before, the clouds were called to wet the land and quell the raging fires
Then the treasured Beauty rested once more, hoping they would learn this time
Not to use their science, their weapons, their threats, and their pride against them
Hoping they would learn all that was needed was a knock and a will to accept it
And the treasure of the tower would be theirs with no need to steal from Beauty
To knock was to gain treasure, be treasure, metamorphasize to Beauty attained
No, they would not believe it, even when notes were writ and sent down explaining
Beauty is the only treasure in the tower and this treasure cannot be grasped in hand
The truth of worthwhile Beauty is that it is made of the quality of seeing another’s pain