||A balance of good °
& bad •\\
Highest rank:- #12 in Poetry! [3/12/16]
Where I relate my life to the pieces of universe, only to make an incomplete puzzle.
Incompleteness is beautiful, isn't it?
So is nothing.
[Read at your own risk, might no...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
-× B E A U T Y
The most beautiful thing considered is engulfed by imperfections. Damps of ugly, Made by memories. With a dark side, No one can see. They always see a part of me, A part still imperfect but not dark. The delusion of light from the brightest thought, Bestows my beauty upon the colorful eyes, with colorless souls. They never see the part untouched by delusion, A part so pure of my mind, They are somehow terrified, Yes, the part makes my mind petrified, But, it's still me? A part of my beauty, as one sees. In the night sky, With no light, Some twinkles from the pieces that died, They see the delusional part of me, sometimes. Compare me to beauty and love. But that goes away if they can't see Or see the real me, up close Without the delusion. I'm still there, But they don't see, As they do in the morning sky. My small delusion isn't worth the beauty, Of the light that blinds the mind. I'm still there, The whole me, But beauty is just partial as a naïve mind sees. The whole me, Is still there, Standing with imperfections in hand, The same imperfections that completes the beauty, But it's still dark and you need a soul's light to see, But beauty is only seen by the blind.
