Another Kind Of Beautiful

Another Kind Of Beautiful

For what is beautiful but for the rare.

There is a charm in the unusual, in the less understood, in the worded and re-worded, and in that quiet that speaks.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the snowflakes place an intimate surrender to the lucid lakes.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the maples fall to rise in love before the spring breaks.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the sun mercies into ornamental dusk of respite.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the endless night dons the ensemble of a dawning delight.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the sighing storms tease to romance the titillating rains.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

But then again, the twinkling stars caress to rekindle their fiery remains.

Another kind of beautiful, I don’t seem to understand..

Are these variants of usual grace, that in principle don’t dismay?

Another kind of beautiful, perhaps I wish to, want to, understand..

Are those unusual contrasts, have you seen the beauty they convey?

A companied lone, which shines as alike as its grey.

The shell of an introvert, as distant as an inch is away.

In definitive a beautiful mind, which is a tranquil storm at play.

Citadels of smiles, teared-up dry to somewhat find a way.

That bleeding indigo ink, bottling an unrequited essay.

Portrayals in denial, hung as empty, nameless clay.

The defence of the once bitten, however longing for love to stay.

Or the language of those eyes, whispering silences that flay.