Wednesday, September 9, 2009


(Sonnet Variation)

Beauty is nostalgia for things forgotten,
Whose memory returns to us unsolved
In a perplexing but delightful way.
Perhaps its source is the elusive unknown,
Mysterious path of enigmatic wonder,
Where no human print has left its mark.
What happened in that land that we can’t share?

Why is our conscious memory unaware,
Even of one small but meaningful landmark?
We know it is a clime untouched by thunder,
Which in a special way it’s our own.
We miss what we don’t know or can’t portray.
When will at last the enigma be resolved?
What does Beauty recall that was forgotten?

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