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Beauty is borne in much more than one form.
Outside convention, to which features conform,
Lies beauty that light waves may never weave—
That absent the mind, no eye might perceive.
Beauty may hide beneath teary eyes,
Beneath sob-skewed features that cannot disguise
Pain that time passing might never allay,
In the depth of love that such grief displays.
Beauty may be bred of self-sacrifice,
Of a cause so great, one lays down their own life
Thinking only of those their death may save,
Of the hope sewed around a hero’s grave.
Beauty may rise from the direst of needs,
The greatest wrongs, or the blackest of deeds,
For adversity is always the seed of new starts
By which hope and strength take root in a heart.
Beauty’s variety is vast and untold,
If we can but be aware of that to behold—
True beauty, so rare for eyes to see,
Is common to a mind that always perceives.