Feel the heat of mind’s control fill your skin until your full.
Slipping into mind’s warm waters, soak yourself in the mood to mourn.
Mourn for your lost direction and isolation, let the faucet run to prevent stagnation.
Let your clouded eyes leave the tub, but keep your mud stricken body in the flood.
Watch love’s interactions from your gut feelings of transcending accelerations.
From your dove’s eye view, watch your life go by as if a preview.
We think we mourn for beauty to fill our lack of wholesome love;
We mourn for the power to control our lack of wholesome life.
Beauty is not one bog creeping with infestation, desolation and scum;
But sightful, relevant beauty is a tidal wave that comes and one day is gone.
Don’t look for Existential, Nihilistic, or Absurdist notions but be present in everyday’s motions.
For while you sit in your stagnant bath, clutching beauty’s gentle touch,
The waters will rise around you until it all seems just too much.
One day, when you stand at the end of your own final bed,
Watching your children upon children mourn and hold your head.
Your body is left in death’s eternal waters but your mind is free to roam and wander.
All beauty is absent in conclusion and genuine grim,
But beauty in your all over looking eyes stays true throughout the end.