beneath the surfaces of things
it is the beauty of the world that makes me cry,
moments tender with reality
the purity of self-sacrifice –
they break my hear to bursting with their life
i am only a simple mortal
yet in such times i experience the divine
not from the removed tower of logic,
but in the sweet curve of lips
the grace of silent speech
the depth of a hidden tear
it is for the existence of these things that i have hope,
for they are never more than a smile away
lying just beneath the pale surfaces of things,
yearning for the soft caress of our gaze
which will set them free