Beauty in ashes they say.
A pull to destruction, to death, to dust.
See how the ashes make beautiful forests
and make us forget the pain.
Can you forget pain?
Or is pain the ashes?
Pain is a mockery of suffering,
and ashes the punchline-
a stain that stays with you long after the roaring fire.
Pain is a gateway they say, key to the soul's lock.
A spring from with thoughts flow,
a catalyst for poetry.
The good kind of poetry
that everyone calls beautiful.
Pain is what art is.
The manifestation of our dark nights
and shredded feet.
All our sweat soaked beds and fights with demons,
All our splintered nails and broken teeth.
The reason our blood is all over everything.
Our souls splattered
on canvas, page, stage, and screen.
They call our ashes beautiful.
It should be terrifying.
SK(art)
