No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

And they are moved
by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
in the back of the taxi home

Have to out wait time
to get over this one
all the stars in the sky will be dark
life will have come and gone to oblivion
while my tears fall
replacing seas with sorrow
peaks with hollows
eroding stone as I suffer alone
through unending tomorrows

A beautiful boy,
with eyes like emeralds,
and heart full of sadness
deep enough to break boulders.
I wanted to heal his scars,
but I suppose
I should worry about my own first,
because Jameson bottles,
are not the best medication
but god it tastes so fine
and I wanted you to kiss me,
the way I kissed you,
but we don't always get what we want
*no matter how bad I want it

It might be the passersby that amuse me:
The brightly dressed young woman whose ease
And deeply warm smile suggest convincingly
She is a new bride, her heart dancing like the breeze;
Or her companion, whose strength beams
Through his eyes and brightens his gaze,
His love, like the sun's light streams
Over his young wife, whose laughter seems his praise;
Or the gaggle of adolesents,
From whose conversation I catch words
Like “amped” and “dude,” most of which to me make no sense,
Whose clothes seem much worn than what their parents can afford;
Or it might be the happy child
Giggling in her mother's arms,
Whose fun consists of simply flailing all wild
And watching the smiles of those the fun disarms.

Or it might be that I am the youngest of them all,
Cane on the bench beside me,
Taking in the world, anew, fresh, though this be my 76th fall.
If this park bench view means anything, very clearly:
Life is a smiling thing.