So many things are probably beautiful
that I can't see that way at all.
How come I sense that the things that hurt
and make me cry and hold my heart tight
and want to break apart into
a million pieces
Is it that my scope and vision are simply too small to see?
That I see only the tiniest part of what is
and describe it the way I have learned and been taught to describe things?
Have not the most painful and desolate times in my own life brought me to new
New awarenesses and abilities?
It is easy to look at a clear blue sky
the punch pink blossom of a bloom
the perfect smile of an unblemished baby
the waving green stalks of corn in an Iowa cornfield
a butterfly alit on a blade of grass for just a moment
and see beautiful.
But what of the storm that threatens?
The browned and dry petals fallen and forgotten?
The curled lips of a cleft palate on a child forgotten in an orphanage?
Of the burnt fields of a farmer wronged?
The broken wings of a life taken too soon?
To pry away the grey and dirt, the death and sorrow, the disappointment and fear
to find the hope of
That is far more difficult.
What if beautiful lives in the seed
If it is so,