When I was young, I went to search
But the faces that soared above me,
so awful in their majesty,
scared me away. Beauty, I thought,
must have a lap
I could place my dreams on.
I grew, and grew
past my dreams. They fell noiseless
from my usually grasping fingers.
It was my head for which
I sought refuge. I wished it could lie
on a soft lap and look into the world's
And see its fears explode away.
But I saw no beauty.
For in her face was my anger,
in hers my selfish rage,
on hers the wrinkles of my little
meannesses, on hers the scars
of my wilder ways.
And in hers, in hers was my
terrible capacity for hate.
And then I saw the beauty
I'd scoured the heavens for as a child.
Her smile was gentle, and peace
was the soft lushness of her lips.
She stepped into my arms and I forgot to be.
And in forgetting was better than I'd ever been.
Reborn, I felt my tears on her cheek,
and looked into her quiet eyes.
She, my beauty, was blind.