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.