Do You Know What is Beautiful?

In all its power and it's glory
in all its searing pain
in all its cold finality
no thought can ever be the same

as a sunset paints resplendent heaven
even on the grimmest sky
thus a sculpture's only then not clutter
when the final piece does lie

no poem can be written
if there is no final line
no ripe fruit can be savored
if then you will not dine

trapped no longer by these mortal coils
our souls may soar with innocents and glee
nothing but our deaths, my dear
can truly set us free

there lies more beauty in your sadness,
at a hopeless longing, lost
then in self indulgent happiness
bought at any kind of cost

you see, beauty, in all its splendor
comes not from what form can lend
but from the final instance,
from the hopeless peaceful end.