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.
…So. I said: what is beauty? He said: it is the impossible being real, it is the kohl of a string on the forefingers of a guitar player, it is the explosion of astonishment on a beautiful lady’s waist, it
I’ll teach you how to read How soft the pages feel underneath your rough fingertips I’ll teach you how to play the violin, How music reveals what’s been hidden for years I’ll teach you how to braid your hair To
The beauty of thine essence is the one, which never to be compared to ye. As, thou art the miracle of this alluring nature. And thy is the beauty which exhibits thousand works of the superior lord. From whence I
In the dust storm a discarded moon sat in my lap. Then internal rhythm crashed. Amorphic I would not find the music of words translated into a kiss. Gold started weeping in my hands. The clouds will rest after committing
The bygone art, a dead shrine; Thou not dead, thou live… shall live By art of carve that plays on and will it play Forever, timeless, in century’s lap The beauty, thou struck me a year back: So calm, so