To shout, to be silent,
To struggle in propriety
But to have no heart to silence,
For beauty is not to be contained.
Who could fathom her limited,
Constrained to one mind, to one eye,
To be lauded in only one small heart;
No beauty is so internal
That one wishes her to be thus.
The heart bubbles, fumes,
Erupts across all thought, filling the air
With clouds and light and words.
The secret truth desires no secrecy,
Wishing to pour across everything,
To color the whole world
And let no mind miss her.
Beauty so hidden, so lively,
Yet – quiet is the voice,
Waiting in wisdom,
Dwelling such loveliness within,
To finally emit to all
That which is alive inside,
Beauty wholly uncontained
And true in every ounce of her being.