She writes,
“You are only as beautiful as the art you can inspire”
But what about the ones who have no artist?
The ones who are muse to no one.
Do they just sit there empty?
Devoid of all beauty,
No one to lift their spirits higher.
No, that’s not it at all.
There can still be beauty there,
Just as there is still beauty in the inky darkness.
Beauty is more than what can be recorded on some page destined to disintegrate.
Beauty is an idea,
A construct that we each devise within our own minds.
So is she lying to herself?
Is she deceiving herself in stating that her only beauty is in what is tangible?
You can’t quite reach out and grip darkness,
Or throw it on a canvas,
And shove it in someone’s face and say,
“This is what is beautiful.”
But it is beautiful.
We can only swear to it.