"I am here," says the Beauty. "So am I," says the Beast.
"We make everything seem so easy to pass by—
Believe me, it’s the least."
It’s because the Beauty and the Beast balance out the deadly:
Where Beauty seems pure, the Beast seems a medley.
It’s the game of chess which they play:
First, the Beauty, as beautiful as clay;
Second, the Beast, ready to slay.
They both seem friendly, but it’s rather a camouflage,
'Cause one day the Beast will be back in Hell,
And the Beauty will be buried in flowers.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 12:57 PM UTC
"I am here," says the Beauty. "So am I," says the Beast.
"We make everything seem so easy to pass by—
Believe me, it’s the least."
It’s because the Beauty and the Beast balance out the deadly:
Where Beauty seems pure, the Beast seems a medley.
It’s the game of chess which they play:
First, the Beauty, as beautiful as clay;
Second, the Beast, ready to slay.
They both seem friendly, but it’s rather a camouflage,
'Cause one day the Beast will be back in Hell,
And the Beauty will be buried in flowers.
"We often view 'Beauty' and 'the Beast' as opposites, but what if they are simply two sides of the same tactical coin? This poem explores the fragile, temporary masks we wear to survive the world—and the grim reality that awaits when the game finally ends. Are you ready to see behind the flowers and the fire?"
