The Strong Wine Of Beauty Poem by Ripper Jones

The strong wine of beauty
Thinks our cynical eyes deceive us not
It also lets in harsh reality
Like a beam of planed Tudor wood

Forever we are cursed or blessed
By the light let in and caught
In the transient bubble of life
That always bursts at time's forget-me-not

Images that drain the self our very being
Unmerciful seers of a future past
Resplendent in ghostly white bones
That lie underneath the gravestone
The last thing we nothing-know
The last thing we fear