Truth Is Beauty
There go the fat monied onesAway to the enclave of the blind
And dumb and selectively deaf
Always depended on with neither
Truth or beauty.
Today
There was a bird that hovered overhead
Winged with feathers so sculptured underneath
I saw some higher hand at work and knew
Beauty will survive.
Those fat cats.
They have to paint on tans
They have to follow scripts.
They have this continuous imaginary
Itch they must treat as a flea necessary.
I know not yet but it will come along
Truth is indeed beautiful to us all.
Still
Even if you like some fancy dress
Do you not see how they get fatter
The more they insist that we inhale?
I can see beauty away from this
Hear beauty at my whim...
Though no-one speaks much truth
To too much pretty these days.
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2012-04-20 at 00:27
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