Beauty
Beauty
This thing called beauty
If I only knew
It must be my duty.
I demand a clue
To unravel its secret
If I only knew?
I would keep it
In my body and soul
Far more than a day.
I’d write on a scroll
Defining for all
You to unroll.
It is my call
To shout it out
From a high knoll.
I care not to flout
This unknown thing
For I undeniably doubt
That it is a King
On a golden throne
Rather his ring.
Can it be known?
Is it a mountain stream,
Or is it a stone?
Does it come in dreams
When thinking of you?
Your loving schemes
Can it be blue?
Is it something I see?
Is it always true?
Can it be
Something I feel
Like a churning sea?
A butterfly’s zeal,
A little child’s smile,
A sunset you steal?
Will it go on trial
If mistaken for lust?
Does it last for a while?
Will it combust?
Can it be held,
Not turned to dust?
And not withheld?
What is this thing
If not a word upheld?
Does it have wings?
Is it more than you see?
Yes, it even has flings.
It is found in the sea,
On mountains high,
Is more than it can be.
It is black and white,
The color of skin,
Reflections of light.
It is not a sin,
The music you sing.
Hidden within.
It is a string,
The words you pen,
To which you cling.
It is when
The portrait you paint
Ends in amen.
It is more
Than all these things
And even more
This thing called beauty.
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2026
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