The curious cat
only dies after being
curious nine times.

A friend of mine was taken by a storm
all because he wanted its beauty.
The storm denied him of the right
and struck him down as he reached for the light.
Every window ever opened
every mind ever spoken
what is beauty but a fleeting opinion left for broken.
A picture is worth a thousand words but is it worth a life?

I grasped each word firmly and wrung each spindly neck.
Littered and defiled laid every word, each soul smashed into oblivion.
Had I the right to ****** my poetry?
Had I the right to destroy an existence that I "created"?
Yes.
Did I regret it?
Yes.