; decay
a painting
is most beautiful
at night,
in it's most ironic
abandoned state
when souls have gone to sleep
with no eye to catch a glimpse of it
and only the stillness of the portrait
remains and overpowers the room
when it has the opportunity
to be the only star
to be it's own featured attraction of the day
in the glistening moonlight
when the masterpiece
is stripped away of filters
rid of all the fabricated lies it wears at daylight
when it is raw
and pure
and delicate
and real
it is also most beautiful
yet no such mind
can ever fathom
how great of a deal this principle
applies on us breathing,
living human beings
when we are exposed
shown to the world in all our fragility
the world will tamper with that beauty
and say
'we only want to make it better'
when a flower is liked
it's plucked from the ground,
separated from it's roots
it's life
and is thrown away at decay
but,
when a flower is loved
it is watered
cared for
and still regarded as beautiful
when it returns back to the soil
to it's home
and becomes a part of it
no magnificent flower
has ever died on it's own
it's either tampered
by hands of the unknowing
or withered by storms and winds
and i tell you-
it should be the same
for us
breathing,
living human beings
no beautiful artwork
no majestic flower
should ever die
by the injustice
of their own hands
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