There Is Beauty In the Ugly

I sing of the afternoon of life, 
Of beaches shifting in such tiny ways;
Throes of death is what they are,
Under the light of a softly dying star,
When eyes full of wonder and hope 
Stare into a sky
Made beautiful by the ugliness of transition
And the contingent world of vision and smell
Where only the blind and dumb can tell 
That life doesn't really give a  about 
what you’ve done with yourself all these years.

Let the rain and wind pick up a bit
And clutch the world in a wet embrace.
I don’t really care, you see.
Let the drops mingle on my face,
A beacon for what hides inside.
I wear my disguise to bed each night
And when I wake I certainly stand
So that it's not noticeable.

My window provides a stark picture of a dim horizon
In the agony of acceptance
That every day is a painful step closer,
And those that don’t feel agony are numb.
Or maybe just dumb.

From the wisdom of poets long dead
And the simple thoughts of those
Who don’t mean anything to you
Come the answers we seek:
Words that illustrate our ideas
And the satisfaction of knowing that
Other people can feel the texture
Of the thoughts you hold
Inside.
Surely wisdom has no higher price
Than the realization that
Everything you think and feel 
Has already been discussed.

Beauty and understanding once meant something, 
But now they vie for attention with
Baser things, trivial things
Only meaningful in their relativity,
Along with knowledge, (what a funny word)
Which once meant knowing what was right 
And what was not and knowing the difference.
Now it seems clear that true knowledge
Is only the acceptance that
We know nothing more than that which
We cannot change.
As flowers grow, bloom, and die, so must our 
understanding ever be compromised and evaluated.

From the ramparts fall 
The sonnets of those most have forgotten,
And maybe you’ll blink, mouth moving 
Like a fish in the sand,
Gasping as you realize the futility
Of accepting anything 
But what you wanted so desperately to believe,
But like any myth, eventually 
you will uncover the trickery
And try to accept it without anger or grief,
Because once the movie’s over, 
You’re just in a big room of people
Staring at a blank screen.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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