Sometimes We Confuse The Handsome Faces Poem by Patti Masterman

Sometimes we confuse the handsome faces,
With some regal hero's lithesome graces;
We'd like to wreathe fine flowers all around them
Only to find, they're poured from alien stone;
Or cast-out granite, by hard heart well-hone.
A prisoner of substances most elite;
Of habits that we don't care to repeat.

We'd thought their beauty rendered them divine,
A pure, salient spirit, unreached by time;
To find that perfect visage is corrupt,
Is like finding someone's spit into our cup,
Or wiped a perfect portrait in the Louvre
With some substance from the body, rude-
Almost as though god made a joke, most lewd.