Fireflies in the Forest
There are forests in the human mind;
And woods and sacred groves
But some of them,
Nay, all of them, are mostly treasure troves
What kind of treasure
And what kind of grove
Is yours to decide;
And yours, to create.
For wise women have oft said
That one woman’s coffee,
Could be another’s offal
So they tell you to nurture the good things
And bury the bad ones
But who’s to say which is which?
And the whys and the wherefores and the hows?
And for all that they say beauty’s only skin deep
There’s more than a layer of epidermis there
Carefully cultivated, irrigated with money
Fed by adverts and self-loathing
And sometimes, nay all the time
I observe, with ‘rue, for you, and some, for me’
That, like faintly twinkling fireflies
In the forests, deep,
There is more of the beast in beauty
And less of the beast in the beast.