The beautiful

A man born to lead,

A tribe made to succeed.

Perfection was their goal,

Beauty seemed all.

Their beautiful leader lured

Everything around,

But his kind heart was sad.

They all couldn’t see beauty

They just saw the surface

Polished to drawn:




Then caught

In its fame,

Then comes

The shame.

A gift from god?

A curse from the devil?


Said the ignorant.


Said the grown ups.


Found by myself.

Without hesitation,

The beautiful leader,

Unmatched in this world,

Does something extreme,

But rather required.

Destroys its own looks

With its own hands.

Blood sheds

On the horrific marks.

Smooth sand beach


The carved mountain.

But he finally made them see.

Our souls speak,

Before our eyes meet.


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