A Curse Of Beauty Poem by Jorge Alexandre

Hold your applause,
For the bird chirps not for gratifying bread,
Or the tantrum of fine meadery.

Hold still thy thoughts,
Stay the youth of the mind,
For the beloved truth.

Hold dear art in thyself,
But hold not misery in its shallow walls,
That run in and out of breath.

The used weed that is decayed,
Like a Japanese knotweed,
To the building survey.

Destroying lifes dear motor,
And in itself, it holds life so dear.

All of natures beauty,
Decayed, from the blur
Of a single tear.