What if I were to say that beauty in itself does not exist,

how can such diversity be fixed as one representation ?

The flower raises a different image to each eye that beholds it,

The moon a different face to whom it beams down on,

a pretty girls smile has greater value perhaps to its recipient,

a lowly ant at its work, one person's fascination,  another's recoil,

We shun the view of our face in the mirror, whilst others smile at its radiance,

The newly born child, more beautiful to its mother than all the wonders of the world, whilst others may only view a wrinkled, writhing, screaming devil,

So the paradigm is such that we cast not judgement on anyone or anything without first considering the perspective of such questioning.

Twisted tales of how you fought a dragon,
silver scales pulsating through your veins,
the beating heart racing through your mind,
its great wings an ice cold wind through your soul,
from its mouth the fire bellows within your skin,
the great roar screams through your spirit ,
writhing, serpentine body wrapping around your limbs,
run it through with your sword of enlightenment,
the clash of steel against its claws of devourment,
its magical, golden blood,  now your bitter nectar,
the battle won through a mortal embrace,
so raise your lance in triumphant accord,
but keep up your shield and remember the pain,
chasing dragons through the mist and the rain.

when you lean down your eyes toward me
I can hear the whisperings of the universe
and when you swing down your arms toward me
I'm lifted into the wilderness
because your lips are wild
and they ravage
me
you found me fishing for ligaments
or maybe something to join my soul to my body
like another supplement
to feed my psyche

secretly
I'm waiting for day break
and the day you take
me

Sometimes we sit in quiet expectation that the other will speak
only to be greeted by the silence of internal solitude
if we may hear the sound of our own breath
then do we know that life is indeed still in abode
does the other understand our internal rhyme
the words that keep the heart in its beat
the soul drags its bow across the taut strings
a sorrowful malady does spring forth from its tune
would that the other hear this internal melody
then hope might indeed cement over these cracks
scripts are always written at the lovers behest
only to be discarded by its woeful actors
scenes played to no rapturous applause
bows taken in haste with exits gratefully received.

There are opportunities a plenty,
as much as the fallen leaves on the ground.
If you breathe deeply and listen,
you can hear God's sound.
I am making it my mission,
to tell you all right now-
Spreading the gospel is more fruitful than fishing,
because even a line cast can be a letdown.
So share the word of Jesus.
Wear it strung round your forehead like a crown.
Write a tweet, send a text, sing a song long and proud.
God gave you everything and then some,
So what will you give right now?