This lament is not of love
but of beauty:
Not the beauty of a human smile,
nor the beauty of of the lips and
eyes of a beloved,
But of the beauty of the World.
I live for the beauty of the sunset, when
the light hits your eyes
pinning you to the spot.
For the beauty of the corn and grass
wafting in the breeze.
And for the beauty of the sound of
rain lulling you to sleep.
And yet it is this beauty that
kills me.
In every stolen photo, every
meagre recording and
every nostalgic waft of breeze.
For these moments can never be captured
Alas there is no net big enough for this butterfly
And no mind can hold the
bird of paradise
that is life.
Instead, I am doomed to chase it,
throughout my lesser existence
To be forever the one who cries out
"LOOK!" to those who cannot see,
For there are those who are blind to it,
and these are the ones
I pity.
For they are not blind in their
eyes, sight is merely a single
sense that can be easily replaced with
touch or
smell or
hearing...
But blind in their minds
Do not pity me,
though my head is too small
for it's calling.
Pity those who cannot, even
for the briefest of seconds,
see the World.
Who spend life crawling forward,
head down
towards the light, wary
to be blinded.
For, though it may **** me, I
plan to bathe in
that light,
so that, if only for the briefest of moments...
I might see the sun.
And what a way to go.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
This lament is not of love
but of beauty:
Not the beauty of a human smile,
nor the beauty of of the lips and
eyes of a beloved,
But of the beauty of the World.
I live for the beauty of the sunset, when
the light hits your eyes
pinning you to the spot.
For the beauty of the corn and grass
wafting in the breeze.
And for the beauty of the sound of
rain lulling you to sleep.
And yet it is this beauty that
kills me.
In every stolen photo, every
meagre recording and
every nostalgic waft of breeze.
For these moments can never be captured
Alas there is no net big enough for this butterfly
And no mind can hold the
bird of paradise
that is life.
Instead, I am doomed to chase it,
throughout my lesser existence
To be forever the one who cries out
"LOOK!" to those who cannot see,
For there are those who are blind to it,
and these are the ones
I pity.
For they are not blind in their
eyes, sight is merely a single
sense that can be easily replaced with
touch or
smell or
hearing...
But blind in their minds
Do not pity me,
though my head is too small
for it's calling.
Pity those who cannot, even
for the briefest of seconds,
see the World.
Who spend life crawling forward,
head down
towards the light, wary
to be blinded.
For, though it may **** me, I
plan to bathe in
that light,
so that, if only for the briefest of moments...
I might see the sun.
And what a way to go.
An early poem which I have never been able to sort the structure to.
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