Ragamuffins, overlooked and forgotten, take the world’s chisels, yet they oft go bust rather than become one.

Beauty beheld.

Life’s frailty can all too soon turn pulchritude putrescible.

Stone preserves purity, but its soul remains dead cold.

Fabric bumfles versus marble ruffles: only one may adorn, but, uniquely, the other can stand the heat—and better itself.

Yes, some pose poshly in states meriting adoration while others trek soaked socks through plashy paths of sorrow.

However, the sainted effigy cannot grow. It cannot overcome. It cannot inspire. It can neither change nor charge. It can be felt, but it cannot feel.

Now, reflection finds purpose in each. Ideals limn dreamscapes and dreamers escape fettered experiences—as beauty resides in both. : )

Categories: Melange

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