Behold the flower; its unwavering beauty.
But ye must treat this sight warily.
For the place where from this rosebud sprung,
is also filled with filth and dung.
And this is not a tale of manipulation;
that would be a reciprocation.
This does not refer to beauty that lies
within the sole parameters of man\'s eyes.
For perfection, endless and boundless,
be accursed, with bitter foreverness.
Something that has not changed or grown,
never has moved, never has known
the lust of the moment, the fire of passion,
a sensual hunger, the need to ration.
The colour of your eyes, a majestic ocean,
Death\'s icy claw, or a sleeping potion.
For the flower which blossoms bright,
a beacon in the summertime light,
was planted a seed from farmer\'s hand,
no less ordinary than a grain of sand,
yet with hopes and wishes to grow
far higher than the world below.
And beauty made with conviction
provides us with the contradiction.
We see just the beauty our eyes behold
and imagine only glittering gold,
but only we can separate
things we love from things we hate,
and both are needed in our quest
to live and love before we rest.
Beauty works in harmony only
with that which is not beautiful.