A Poem. By Rhiannon Maxheimer
What is beauty?
That is the true question.
Is it from being born?
Or does it grow through progression?
Could someone explain?
I don't quite understand.
What is it that differentiates 'grand' from 'bland'?
I've always heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder...But, then why is that some see it colder?
Some think beauty is only in ones hair.
But others think its what one would wear.
Some seem to think beauty is only a lie.
Does anyone really care whats on the inside?
Maybe I'm confused, because I find beauty in all things.
I find beauty in the rain and in broken wings.
I can see the beauty in someones sad smile, even when others would say they were vile.
I see the beauty in nothing but sand.
I can see the beauty in a older persons hand. All the work and things they've touched. Hands have a way of telling stories in a hush.
I can see the beauty in cracked paint. How many coats did it go through before it grew taint?
I can see beauty in a cat with a missing eye. They've come a longway to become so sly.
I can even see the beauty in a old grave stone. especially when their memories are shown. The beauty in the words of those who remember them. And the flowers they leave every now and then.
I can see the beauty in life, and death. The beauty of its first and final breath.
I can see the beauty in every day I'm alive. Because without all this beauty, I couldn't survive.
So what is beauty...?
Iv'e told you what my perspective is.
What do you think?
I challenge you to think about what you thought... About what beauty is...and what beauty should be sought.
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