Have I become so bitter
So tainted in thought
That I lose appreciation for beauty?
For where I have begun to see weeds
Others see
Merely a beautiful flower
Perhaps it is simply a reflection
Of our inner selves
The child of beauty saw a flower
The child of darkness
Saw a ****
But perhaps that is merely
An overexageration
For I still see beauty
Even where others would say none lies
I hesr beauty in sounds considered mundane
And relish every contact
With things and people
That I consider lovely
Perhaps it is
That pain does not breed
Bitterness
And cycnicism
Always
But sometimes
As an indulgent god
Might grant a weary motal a boon
The pain instead breeds
A greater appreciation
For all things
An eye which sees beauty
Even in what others
Consider weeds
An ear which hears beauty
Even in sounds
Considered mundane
And ugly
Fingers which feel warmth
And beauty
In all human contact
And in all the things
Which over a lifetime
They may have the joy
Of coming into contact
With