All I know is the ignorant truth, or it could be called that, from a society that cannot see true beauty. Not the beauty that most morons can see and point out in a crowd, but the simple beauty in all souls, the one that blooms everywhere. Even after a tragedy, there is unsaid beauty.
Grass grows over a grave,
a scar can take a shape, new and changing,
a child born of rape.
Hard to see like the stillness almost peace when one is confused.
The sudden hope after being letdown. But hope is no longer something I know it lives not in this flesh, but hangs before my lips, like forgiveness. Like a biohazard, I move, good but around me, inside me there lay lands, thoughts unknown. Damned by any rightful church and those who are unable to see my beauty. They are lost to it. Smiles cover a permanent melancholy. In me could lay millions of things, so beautiful, but so breakable they go unseen. For there is always something in the way of them coming out. This is all I know to be true, but then sometimes ignorance is not bliss. Yet, I can see beauty, in you, in all, it shines like gold, but sometimes it hides.
