Beauty short poem

Photo by Ocean.W

There is a beauty.
A beauty like a connection with the past and future.

The beauty is shining.
The world revolves around it.
It seems everything is drawn towards it.
The beauty is magnificent and unrealistic in size,
Like a vast source of identity or maybe a way to happiness.

I stay in front of it
and look deeply.
The beauty forces me to move forward with it
and to forget the past.
But there is always something in the past
which is hard to forget, something brutal and unpleasant.
Maybe it is a memory of a war;
Or cruel or unjustly order,
which settles like a heritage in my mind.

Beauty moves me forward
and redeems me from the past.
I stand in front of it
And stare deeply.
How much is its territory,
How much can I go forward,
How much can it protect me.

The beauty stands powerfully,
and forces me to move forward
Without any doubt or question.
Just go forward,
go forward,
go always forward with the beauty.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of


Beauty short poem

Beauty Careful as I got, paying heed to the sculpture With such finesse, and an eye of a vulture Every peculiarity went on to depict a story Incarnating legends, of the war that was gory Over the period beauty stood

Beauty In Decay

Beauty In Decay long poem

Light a sharpie so bright shines on beauty seen through decay. Both beauty and decay form a duality of darkness and luminosity. Beauty is a love that can provide for its reality against dismay. Just as tradition is a security

Beauty Is

Beauty Is short poem

Beauty is all around It knows no limits or bounds It is not hidden just waiting to be found Beauty is all around It shows itself by the sun in the sky It shows itself in the colour of your

The Beauty Of Winter

The Beauty Of Winter long poem

The cold air seeped down with no heart, What was once a sea of beauty and life, Now had been turned to a grave of white and death, The city had almost all but stopped living too. Morning turned to

Beauty Of Pain

Beauty Of Pain short poem

Behind your face was cleaver releasing past poem. The sensual milk flows from the palm into your lake. Grieving for the torn wings of pink light. Cruising on thighs with eyes closed death utters a shriek. The eternal flame closes