Thoughts shun their meanings, why I will not question,
For the mind has its own dreams,
Of which I shall not mention.

Beauty has its own unique law, a talent in itself,
Indeed another form of genius unlike anything else.
For it doesn’t need to speak, it’s a silent self-expression,
A higher type of sovereignty that needs no explanation.

A face scars itself, when intelligence crowns the mind,
Lips lose their appeal when the mouth thinks itself divine.
And the mind becomes vacant, when knowledge corrupts the soul,
When wisdom ceases to reside, in both the youthful and the old.

A body becomes tainted when solely carnal in its pleasures,
And a life reaps turmoil when common with its treasures.
For man hungers for the exquisite, for that which he cannot always gain,
Because he’s twisted in his desires and shallow in his aims.

So what is a face and what is a mind?
If they both can distort themselves, at any time.
Is it beauty that’s the most honest, or is it conscience revealed?
Is it passion posed as timidity or immorality concealed?

For now even wantonness breathes heavily
In an age where lust is synonymous with love,
Where logic wars against man’s faithfulness
And his belief in the heavenly above

.