Beauty

Life is good— why do we forget to write this down? How we talk about our sorrows but also forget the beauty around us. It is through beauty we are made whole. Is it not art that speaks through our void to claim the soul and render it anew? Dust, ashes, toil, and waste lay around us; these are our treasures, our creations— yet beauty lays a new path, gentle, sweet. A simple melody once heard, once remembered— a faint, quiet echo of a warm fireplace crackling on a snowy night. A gentle "I love you" to break the bitterness. Oh beauty’s gift, how we forsake her. Oh beauty’s gift, how we disgrace it. Render a sorrowed cry, a bitter moan. Have we forsaken her once again? Has hope been torn? Sundered flesh and vehement ashes— these are our birthrights placed down upon us. To declare one’s rule upon the ground and then say, I matter Then say, I matter