Beauty is a Three Letter Word

Oh, stones, mountains;

these rocks he walks upon,
and the rivers that carry them
on yellow mornings
when poppies spring up,

read as the love of a book;

these psalms that tuck us in
when outside elements
are our only comfort,

when those initials
become a desecration,
branches bent;
wrapped around our hearts,

eyes, weeping like willows,
at the coming of light,

Oh Light!
the dawn of second chances,
new buds forming,

precious seeds
of thought, germinating

in cohabitation
in collaboration
with the moon

in perfect sync,
this worship;

the poetry of stars
and the beauty
in realization
of a two syllable testimony:

“I am!”



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