All Up Close

In the ashes of subjectiveness;

A beauty to hold close.

Through the eyes of one’s soul.

Beyond the depths of all hatred.

 

In the mirror of self-loathe.

An image of pure smoke.

Ill-defined, completely against hope.

 

You see, and yet, you do not.

All that’s beyond;

And all that is not.

It is a guise, hidden in plain sight.

 

But do not look down.

And do not dare muster a frown

A head held high.

A soul put at ease.

For that beauty, not all can see.

 

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