The Perfection of Beauty

I saw the perfection of beauty,

it walked alone one time,

wayward and destitute,

a youth, a girl,

on a corner in the rain.

An appearance most striking;

shape, most shapely,

not a line out of place.

The lights that passed that made her wait,

coveted that seemly shape,

that youth, those lines

so graceful posed.

They wanted to touch it,

to taste it, to feel inside it;

thinking this was the path to possess

its most real experience.

They gave gold just to make a puppet of her,

to rub off on the china doll's lustre.

Time and time again

they came to polish on her shine,

hoping that it would turn their dull matt

to a glossy sheen.

But the shine does not wear on that way,

by that mode it only wears away.

She was used selfish

and her brightness faded by the consumption of greed,

and soon no light escaped her surface,

only darkness there did she exude.

She had no shine left to give

and was coveted no more,

discarded as a worn out trinket.

And then a strange appearance,

a man who came not to rub on the

magic of her lustre,

but merely to offer her a bit of comfort.

A long lost face of her familiars,

with one tender smile,

one kind hand to wipe away a single tear,

he burnished her shine to a whole new brightness,

and by one truly caring embrace

took her away from that lonely place.

I have seen the perfection of beauty

and I knew it because it was the

brightest smile I had ever seen,

not because it shined so flawless,

but because it was simply loved.

JKM