Bloom

The aesthetic beauty of the mind to behold.

Not one can abate my hunger, my disease,

I've come upon these thoughts to ponder,

The substantial blank you bring appease.

To whom to which the eyes behold,

To whom to which is conscience sold,

To what, are you the ascetic?

 

The aesthetic beauty of the mind to delve.

True allure is held in the anomaly, the aloof,

The austere you bring me abstract.

For whom do you amalgamate,

For whom do you deviate,

For what, are you the ascetic?

 

It is the obliques of the self,

That wholly aggrandize the quintessence, the catalyst,

You haven’t the self with the self abjured.

Of what is the cogent entity you hold within,

Of who in you will you arrest,

Of who in you will you let bloom?

The aesthetic beauty of the mind to embrace.

 

Ruminate, my sweet Apogee,

For the true nature of one’s self knows universes

Whose eyes have never laid eyes upon.

Aver yourself, aver your self.

The mind’s eye sees what it wishes to see,

Not in another’s image did your soul burgeon.

The aesthetic beauty of the mind, to possess.

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