Is Beauty constant like a piece of art?
That’s never harmed by people’s thoughts or actions-
Or is it AS IT IS?
Like wood may be it raw or polished-
Is it all the same?
Does it remain unmarred by time as it goes by-
Leaving behind no judgements?
Is beauty fleeting like a lover’s promise-
In innocence of love that is so tender?
Or can it be that after time I still may notice-
That even the unpolished wood or rusty bars-
May also have their charms?
Forever covered in dry lavender—