(I’m taking a completely unwarranted break from NaNoWriMo. Heaven help me!)
We have beauty all wrong.
What our eyes perceive have nothing to do with something
so elusive. Faces are a sorry substitute for
all that is beautiful in this world.
We have ugliness down pat. So we think. Well, perhaps.
Ah yes! We all know what is ugly when we see it.
Ugliness does not belong with beauty.
Ugly requires silence from those who are,
and noisy, derogatory pride from those who are not.
Beauty will not stand still, nor stay silent for ugly.
Ugly lets beauty find itself – unless –
Is there some dividing line, one we have
toed into the sand? Some arbitrary barrier
made of some mirror-sand, reflecting, in jest,
falsely the glory of all beauty fears to lose?
Ignorant beauty knows not that blind, all-seeing hearts
detect no differences except in what is not seen.
Could it be a line ugly cares not to breach?
When beauty defines ugly as a by-word
for having been through the fire, where will
beauty retreat when the fire reaches them?
Is it possible that beauty can be defined as person or thing,
that which manages, in the blistering winds of examination
to stand, proud, unwilling to pawn what is left of
life for something far less valuable than who they are?
In the end, all that is left of beauty: an armless
Venus, the bust of Adonis only a pile of rubble and dust.
The dust perhaps on which we have toed
all those worthless, changeable lines.
But something tells me we still have it all wrong.
There is no beauty that cannot be seen through,
nor is there ugliness that tells the whole tale.
Well, back to WriNoMo, or is it WriSoMo, or ThroInTowel? Nah. . .For a while at least I will stick with NaNoWriMo. It’s enough. . .