There's a mysterious force in the world.
Something known as beauty.
It surrounds us with a nearly limitless power that transcends even our minds.
Something that nobody wants but everyone has, something that nobody sees but everyone notices.
Strangely enough, we long for a thing such as beauty.
It's almost like happiness where we pursue it forever when it's right beneath our nose.
I'd like to think that I'm beautiful.
or that I'm happy even.
It may not be so, but even in moments where I'm ugly, I am beautiful.
Some days I wonder where the beauty went where there's violence and corruption.
Most days I continue my endless ponder of who isn't beautiful.
Everyone and everything is beautiful.
Why do you think there's a strange catharsis in war?
Or a strange beauty in nature?
Our minds are hardwired to believe that everything is beautiful and yet we neglect it.
I wonder where all of this power came from.
I wonder why we're driven to be something that we already are.
Beautiful
YOU ARE READING
Dreams Over Reality
PoetryA compliation of poems and skits. The skits are no longer being continued. Most poems are about me and the events around me. Read my story This is my story.
