On my flight home

I wrote this. Kind of came out of nowhere? I haven't written anything since sophomore year it seems like. I don't think I've been really inspired by anything since I discovered slam poetry. My heart is yours, JM Huscher.


I know true beauty. I've met it, we made no smalltalk, and yet I knew all that was inside of it. I stared into it's eyes but did not see it's soul, instead felt an overwhelming presence. beauty is not all in sight. It exists throughout feelings, scents, sounds, intangibilities. there is no home for it, nor does it travel, it merely exists; beauty does not own or give. It is a gift in itself. it cannot be fully captured, because even when you feel that it is yours, it reminds you that it belongs to everyone, to everything.
If I want to spend time with beauty, I can close my eyes and feel it. I can appreciate it without knowing exactly what it is, because it exists in a myriad of forms. it is the genuine laughter of my friend, it is the clouds in the sky, it is the realization of the indefinite, the omnipotent, the original and unique, the created and the recreated. beauty has no definition and no limitation. It is wondrous and exact without bounds. Who can say where it dwells? to give it placement is to admonish it. beauty has no time and place, no face, no creator, no end or beginning. it simply is.