La Beaute

What is love? What is beauty? The answers pour down from the sky like melting clouds flowing onto the terrestrial sphere we inhabit. Beauty is become a stereotype, a landmark a free pass, rather than something to be enjoyed and cherished. We devour it, rip it at the flesh. Grinding the very meaning of it to minuscule bits. The remnants left to be observed and broken down even finer. What joy does that indeed bring us? The measly worthless beings who strut about as though we actually know our worth. Wisdom cries out. It begs to be heard by those mortal ears, yet so few will hearken to its voice. No time must be wasted on listening, oh no. No to wisdom. No to truth. Only draw nearer to the self fulfillment, moving forward always. No stopping to think about the decisions to be made nor to the consequences being faced but only looking at the desired outcome.
Beauty rests. It mingles. It dances and flows. It does not strive to break other things apart. beauty is the light seen after the darkness, or perhaps the darkness seen after the light. It is the connection between the individual and the object of an individuals decision. It is found in sight, through colors and shapes. In taste according to sensation and flavor. In audible form through music by one connecting with the sounds heard. The beat becomes pulse, the notes as a river carrying the imagination along, drifting. The listener establishing a connection to the words as they become their own by singing aloud.
It is all around us and it thrives on perception for that is its creator. The human mind decides what is worthy of its own attention. Through this, beauty becomes a tool with which all operate daily.
For some, beauty is all around; others, tis rare.
Everything contains it, but each person's choice whether to seek it out.