What is beauty if it can only be seen
In the hapless dreams of lovers.
Or in the useless faces of the unattainable.
Beauty is not a gift given to many.
It must be shared simply to be beautiful.
And beauty is found in strange places,
Revealing itself in the gentle mist or in
Snowflakes falling beneath a moonlit sky.
It finds itself in the faces of the grieving
And in the wonderment of a child.
The smell of freshly cut grasses
Or the elation of a soft summer night.
It the memory of both pain and joy.
The agony and the ecstasy.
It is the depth and breadth of the soul.