Home

at the end of a long road

my own bed and pillow

sinking into the familiar.

Dorothy was so right

there's no place

like home.

the person i saw in the mirror

as i brushed my hair off my dry cheeks

and removed flaking lipstick

with a torn rag

i knew that i had finally moved on

I was serving my residents in the dining room when I noticed one of my regulars having a conversation in sign language with one of our newer residents, who is completely deaf. She had been trying to meet up with the newer resident for weeks, to no avail, when she saw her in passing. It gives me good feelings thinking about how happy she was to find someone who was able to understand her.

White butterflies decking the ground

Rushing into the air

As childhood me ran through them

Hoping to catch one

White butterflies resting on the lawn

Stays one of my fondest memories

One of the most beautiful things

I’ve ever laid my eyes on

For me, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen is my wife. Not only is she beautiful to look at, but she is beautiful in her work too. My wife has given me a daughter and two sons that will forever be our pride and joy. My wife has encouraged me to not only return to a career that I had previously doubted myself in (teaching), but has also encouraged me to chase my dreams (acting). She holds me accountable when it comes to my beliefs and convictions, and she believes in me more than I believe in myself. My family's victories are thanks to her love, support and encouragement. To me, there is no one or anything else more beautiful than her.

today i woke up

crying. i dreamed of you–

a goddess, religion, merchant of fate

an altar & i consecrate

kneeling like a sinful curse

until my knees bled from the golden debris

chiseled out of shattered dreams

& i couldn't breathe, my trachea overflowed

sacred stars. sacrifice before your smile

i no longer recognized myself

last night i fell asleep

bleeding. i thought of you–

the shadowed side of the moon

in a lighthouse attic, barefoot

dancing amongst the gospel of waves

and silhouettes of candlelight.

beneath the tower: i tumbled in waves

with the body of a sunken pirate ship

and the face of a lost bandit child

i slit my throat in denial that i'm drowning

tonight i am sober. but unbearably empty

the scars on my neck crawl like poison ivy

all over my defiled skin. throat split open

and it feels cold, it feels like coming home.

i sit next to the edge of life, numb

& watched as the river of stars

you had once kissed into my throat

return to the heavens–

where my longing for you belongs

silent, immaculate, and forever intense

- deathetix

Beauty is many things to many people. It can more often than not be seen, but it can also be felt in a multitude of ways that manifest deep within one’s being. And it is solely discretionary, based largely upon one’s preferences and pursuits.

For me the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen is narrowed to three genres. I love art, I love music, and I love literature and prose. If I had to separate or choose one over the other, I fear it would be like an inner civil war and completely, undeniably impossible. It might be inherently easier for me to remove one of my extremities rather than to choose between the three. After all, aren’t the three one and the same? The beauty of art is music to the soul, music’s beauty is art redefined, and literature or prose is the inscription of both art and beauty.

Michelangelo. The mere name gives me shivers. I have had a love affair with this artist since I was only eight years of age. I recall seeing a picture of his Pietà and nearly weeping from the beauty he sculpted from one massive block of marble while only 24 years of age. It is said that Helen Keller, blind and deaf, was allowed to run her hands over the piece when she visited Rome many years ago. While doing so, she wept uncontrollably, so lifelike was the image and so moved was she by its intense portrayal of life, death, and sorrow therein. I cannot imagine what it would be like to actually feel this piece of marble when looking at it alone causes me to weep from the sheer beauty and emotion housed within it.

Chopin. The delicacy and haunting beauty of Frederic Chopin’s music is encompassing and overwhelming. I love all compositions of this great Polish composer, but if I had to choose only one, I would choose his Nocturne Op 48 No. 1 in C Minor. Whenever I listen to it, I am overcome with both the lovely beauty and the deeply penetrating, haunting sadness of it. It is a palpable thing, felt in the deepest recesses of the heart, body, and mind. Chopin’s life was a life ended way too soon. One can only imagine what other pieces of beauty he may have composed had he had the chance to do so.

Shakespeare. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Could William Shakespeare have been more wrong? I fear no other “rose” would smell as sweet as the writings of the Bard of Avon. And as cliché as it may be, his beautiful and heart wrenching story of young love written so eloquently in Romeo and Juliet never, ever fails to move me. Could anyone else lay a pen to such beauty in such a moving declaration of love, I wonder:

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

(Romeo, Act 1, Scene V, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare)

I could cite endless more accounts of such beauty in Shakespeare, but I think they stand well enough alone without the need for me to do so.

Are these three examples of art, music, and literature the only moving accounts of beauty I’ve ever witnessed? Absolutely not. These are merely three of the things that I find most beautiful while fully realizing others may not be inclined in the same respect. For me, however, the day is young and there are a multitude of new things awaiting the discovery of beauty in my eyes and lifetime. And it is without a doubt, for me, that they will likely be found in a piece of art, music, or literature.

The most beautiful thing is not the ocean, the moon, nor the stars. But rather something much deeper at heart. It is not the worlds' kindness, nor the world's love. But somthing much more personal. The most beautiful thing is not the creation of life or the memories we make along the way. For those all come to a end. But you... you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. For you make me feel as if I were floating on a river of joy only to cascade into the endless stream of love. You... are the most beautiful thing ever to exist, and I will love you indefintely until my lungs give in.

:)

People ask about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The answer is simple, it's everything about you. From the look in your eyes, to your smile, to groves of your fingers. Everyday I sit in wonder, wondering how I found you. I don't know how, but I couldn't be happier. You truly are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

The tunnel is long,

dark,

cold,

and admirable.

It's harsh,

yet you can't help

but admire the beautiful carvings

just visible in your dim sight.

You reach out your hand,

walking and letting your fingers

trace the marks on the curved ceiling

of the tunnel.

Finally,

you see a light.

You are relieved

to leave the neverending tunnel,

yet you are sad to not

be able to admire the carvings

anymore.

"Goodbye" You whisper.

The light might be

a train,

but you're happy to be

releived of trekking the

endless,

cold,

dark,

meritorious tunnel.