Beauty
Think of me as a vision made of stone:
my breast, where mortals find only tragedy,
was created to inspire the love of the world,
protestless and omnipresent as matter.
My body is cold, my heart frozen,
I am aloof, uncomprehended by all
I despise any that threaten my detachment;
I cannot be happy, and I cannot be sad.
Before me they waste away,
Entranced by my beauty,
They place me upon a pedestal.
And to keep them close, these clueless toys,
In reciprocation, I capture their love
Shine it back at them, gleaming in my eyes.