Poem: The Blind Seeing Flowers

Venice Windows_resize

The Blind Seeing Flowers

The papers are full of the pictures.
Water overflowing canals,
worst flooding in a lifetime,
you favorite places knee deep,
the muck flowing into an entire city.
As if slow singing was not enough.

You have wept. That is the truth.
You have only been there once,
but the place captured your soul
and it has never released it.
Even now, years later, you comb the papers,
trying to figure out how to go there
and live. There is not enough time
to spend there.

The beauty there is old and tired.
Paint peals. Boats spend their lives fighting rot.
Each year, the city sinks.
And yet… and yet, there is a vibrancy here,
a determination to live brightly,
as if spirit alone could beat back the elements,
nothing is perfect, which is perfect.

For that is the best of beauty,
when it rises past the pretense of perfection
and the spirit animates the worn walls,
and the truth of a soul shows through.

Never doubt your own beauty.
You are more than perfect.
Something better,
captivating.

About This Poem

Venice is my favorite place on the planet.  If you have been reading the news, you know they have had terrible flooding the past few weeks.

Too few people understand their own beauty. They could learn from Venice, which for all the battles with the sea, all the broken and worn imperfections, is magical, and never doubts its magic.

The picture was taken in Venice.

Tom

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