Some days, I sit and dream of being something beautiful. I dream of being the sweet flower in every person’s garden, Or the little butterfly that every child loves. I dream of being the magnificent peacock, flaunting every gorgeous feather, Or even the picturesque mountain scene that is searched for every day. But then, I realize from time to time that the outer things will fade away, That inner beauty is purer than anything that is on the outside. It is purer than the clearest waters of the ocean, Or even the most precious diamond. But, in order to have inner beauty, my actions must reflect my words. My thoughts must reflect my heart. For soon enough, the soul’s inner beauty will surpass anything considered beautiful on the surface.
I've been writing poetry ever since middle school, but I've never really thought about releasing my work to the public until coming to college. Currently, I am studying music as my major and English as my minor.
Beauty Careful as I got, paying heed to the sculpture With such finesse, and an eye of a vulture Every peculiarity went on to depict a story Incarnating legends, of the war that was gory Over the period beauty stood
Light a sharpie so bright shines on beauty seen through decay. Both beauty and decay form a duality of darkness and luminosity. Beauty is a love that can provide for its reality against dismay. Just as tradition is a security
The snow fell quietly on the little hill with the softness of swan feathers, blanketing the ground around the tiny log cabin. Wispy drifts cascaded down the roof and gathered around the windowsills as if to cradle the tiny abode