The true magnificence of matters and affairs
and the grandeur and glory of a heart
only exist if one stops, inhales and cares,
another beat that ventures to see how thou art.
There’s more than mere beauty for the eye
and more than sounds’n warmth in a mothers womb
between these grounds and the starry sky
between age and the artlessness’ purest bloom.
Beauty of touch and the holding in one’s arms
in the breath of affection and the heat of compassion,
Thou art vivid in this timeless mystery and its charms
the wonders of the old, the new and the unknown.
Beauty of faszination and its bone of passion
But the ego only sees and worries about its own
But the heart that looks inside and looks through
is the one that bursts by beauty and in the eye of its counterpart.