February 19th, 2006


WARNING: Poetry!

I wrote this at 18, back when the world was full of hope and potential and lollipops. Where have my lollipops gone?

Some bastard probably ate 'em . . .

Why Is Nature Beautiful

The leaves are dying . . .
They die by changing colors--
Beautiful colors!--
And falling to the ground.
Back and forth and flit and back and . . .
What makes that beautiful?
If sex is a beautiful and natural thing
Then what about rape?
Nature might be beautiful
(Dying leaves are beautiful
The way a
Suicide is beautiful
The way that
Dying leaves are beautiful)
But it's the way a meal
Is very tasty
Until you find out what it's made of . . .
Perhaps it's not beauty
But a kind of morbid fascination--
Like a car crash
Like a train wreck
Like a boat/ship sinking
Like an airplane coming down
(With a sudden attack of gravity)--
That over time we have called beauty
(So beautiful people are actually morbidly fascinating
"Hallelujah!" say the ugly people)
Because we don't want to feel annually guilty
When the leaves die . . .
Would we so readily chop down trees if they screamed?
We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.
Or would we think it beauty for it is
And always will be
(Nature, nature, everywhere
Over the briny brink
Nature, nature, everywhere
And not a drop to drink.)
Because a mosquito is natural,
Should we find it beautiful
When it buzzes by our ears
And bites us and bites us and bites us?
Is an animal mauled by another
A beautiful sight?
Or is a lion's hunt less noble
If it's none by a hyena?
(Nature, nature, everywhere
And not a drop to drink.)
The next time you watch someone
Dying in pain
(Animal attack,
Chronic onset of car wreck,
Don't forget, it's natural.
As tree leaves,
Are natural,
And remember the feeling of
Beauty or
Morbid fascination
(Whatever helps you sleep at night)
You felt.
(Unless you're color blind, and then I've rambled endlessly.)

Aaron "The Mad Whitaker" Bourque
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