What is Beauty?

What is beauty really,
is it there for all to see?
Or is it humble,
hiding, waiting fervently?

Is it a polished rock,
with an inside full of mock?
Or is it behind a door,
with an unopened lock?

Is it an object full of lust,
stealing hearts that used to trust?
Or is it slow and patient,
like metal starting to rust?

Is it a word of envy,
walking proud, selfishly?
Or is it a sound,
using a soft melody?

What is beauty really?
Will we ever know it freely?
Or is it everything,
but we never see it wholly?

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