Beauty is all around me, it's in everything I see.
From fixed up barbies to the wind in the trees,
I'm aware of its power to compress an hour
into one tiny moment of awe and admiration.
If this is all I see, would there be any beauty left for me?
I'm not so sure I fit the bill, for beauty is still,
and I am like a hive of bees, with all the conflict inside of me.
But just by watching beauty be,
some chaos stops and ceases to be,
So whether I'm beautiful or not, I don't let the outcome be my lot.
Rather my oasis lies in noting beauty, like the skies.