Things lose their value whence they are tampered; a work's beauty diminishes through every act of restoration.
There exist no similar thoughts, emotions or motives fueling the one restoring; the soul of the work tarnishes when touched by different hands. Well-meaning people are simply too blind or daft to understand true beauty cannot ever be restored - only meddled with in an effort to preserve it. Those wonders plain to see are the most difficult to understand - ignorance in the beholder muddying the purity radiating from the soul of the artist.
Few ever learn to recognize that which endures, that which one can love, is solitary. One can gently take part in admiring but one rarely understands it must remain as it is; keeping their meddlesome nature in check. Things die the moment foreign hands attempt to undo time.
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Chasing Muses (#Wattys 2016)
RandomTimes when I end up chasing a few musings and times when few of them just bump into me. Poetic prose? Random Pondering? Not too sure. Only thing I am sure of though is that these things needed to be written, recorded for there might not be a second...
