Perfections may not last long in rarities
Of this air but there is a comfort brewing
In the taste, a passing glance in viewing
Where it is we came from, the disparities
Between less than nothing known–clarities
In gravitas notwithstanding–and eschewing
Voids and loudly damning first the bluing
Lapis of the granite’s core–the heart’s forever grieving–opportunities,
Then, to be or not to be in favour of a breath that simply is.
These richer blues turn to brilliant scarlet and the race is on;
Crimson rivers determine little but the goal
Allotted, beyond the present comes the darkest coal
That graces, liberates the delta’s fan and justifies its bliss
And many blame the violin but few the cello’s song.
Whatever anyone else says or does, I must be true to myself, just as if gold or emerald or the color purple would say, “Whatever anyone may do or say, I must be an emerald and keep my color.”
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus [121 – 180]