The Other Side of Beauty

Before me floats a miracle in white,
shimmering like snowfall in the frame
of my camera, incandescent light,
a peacock of a sort seldom seen.

All white feathered tail and breast and face,
a vision strutting by the camera field
and posing with a fan of Spanish lace.
I capture on my film the ethereal.

For him, peacock blue does not exist—
his beauty coming from the unexpected.
Jarring as a bolt of lightning, his
splendor causes him to be rejected

by his own, his life a world devoid
of any others, living in a canyon
empty, but for dust and white noise.
Forever he must live without companion.

The elegance I see—the regal grace
captured for all time in my frame
is for him a sentence and a curse.
The other side of beauty is the pain.


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