Monday, July 23, 2012


Beauty is borne in much more than one form.
Outside convention, to which features conform,
Lies beauty that light waves never weave —
That absent the mind, no eye might perceive.

Beauty may rest in a hot, heaving chest,
In the rise and fall of pendulous breasts,
In a tangled mane of sweat-matted hair,
A blood-soaked infant’s first breath of air.

Beauty may hide beneath teary eyes,
‘Neath sob-skewed features that can’t disguise
Pain eons’ passing might never allay,
In the depth of love that such grief displays.

Beauty may be bred of self-sacrifice,
Of a cause so great, one lays down his life
Thinking only of those his death may save,
In the hope sowed ‘round a hero’s grave.

Beauty may rise from the direst of needs,
The greatest wrongs, the blackest of deeds,
For adversity’s the seed of new starts
By which hope and strength take root in a heart.

Beauty’s variety is vast, untold,
If we can but be aware to behold —
True beauty, so rare for eyes to see,
Is common to a mind that perceives.

(By SecretedSins)

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