Measuring Cups


Death falls by the millions,
And we define this as beautiful
Dead leaves become
The colorful flowers
During the autumn season,
So how do we measure the beauty,
When everything around us is dying?
Our cups never reach empty
As the beautiful little things surmount to infinity
We raise our glasses to the thoughtful individual
Knowing total loss paints the best redemptions
Dream on, dream on, and re-create our community
The most beautiful flower is the one blooming in adversity
The Universe is the roots, the stem, and the leaves
While all persons become the many of pedals,
And we must grow all these flowers
Into a garden of extra-ordinary beauty
So the only question
Remains from the poet to the reader,
Who’s with me?
Grab the measuring cups,
And let’s go find something beautiful

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