Can we see the Beauty, in that which can’t be remembered?
Can we see the Beauty, in that which can’t be owned, can’t be identified with?
Can we see the Beauty in that which can’t be described?
Or, the only thing we call Beauty, is a measure that represents some level of impression, or satisfaction, or enjoyment?
Real Beauty, can’t be produced by the mind.
There can’t be intention,
There can’t be work, that leads to Beauty.
No art can ever touch Beauty,
No story, no poem, no creation of the mind, outwardly or inwardly, can come even close to pure Beauty.
To see that, for real, is Beauty!
And that Beauty can’t be faked,
That Beauty can’t be held,
That Beauty can’t be known.
Real Beauty can’t be known