Beauty
Beauty as the sunrise from the sky.
An orange peel around the sphere of the earth, peeling away.
To the east, a glint, a glimmer of light.
To the west, rich, deep, black envelopes all.
To the old, it is forgotten,
to the new, a preview of what is coming.
From below, the sight is amazing,
from above, the sight is astounding.
Yet some maintain this sight does not exist, is mearly a figment of my imagination.
To them, I guffaw.
To see the sights that I saw and deny the existence of it all?
How crass, how crude, how unbelivably rude, for I know it is all true.
How do I know they ask?
It’s all about the point of view.
From below, the sight is amazing,
from above, the sight is astounding.
When one sees a work of art, how is it defined so?
Most would argue that you just know.
When I see the light in the east, I don’t attribute it to me.
When I see straight lines of water, it’s more than just science.
Beauty is more than just the eye of the beholder,
but the eye of the maker.
From below, the sight is amazing,
from above, the sight is astounding.
Even things as bland as pure white haze have beauty.
Disect the parts, don’t look holistically.
White water, but not ice.
Floating in the sky as I fly by.
It got up here all on it’s own, by itself, through a process of nature.
And some say it just happened.
