You are so beautiful, dressed up in your seductive finery. Your glowing body is like Helios, the Greek God of the sun, as you draw everyone to you. You are like the first glance of the parting clouds after the storm with your yellow beacon peaking through.
You illuminate the pathway to heaven with your torches and your cordial smiles. You know the safest course for sailors to follow as you cradle the ship in your warm bosom. You appear as an angel dressed in a white chiffon. Her smile lights up every crevice in the earth and her tears fall on the leaves like the morning dew. Like a prophet, you walk forth with your disciples following close behind. You turn unbelievers into believers. You are the light between heaven and earth.
Yet your bright lights and glitter can be deceiving at times. As the sun reaches down into the core and nurtures the deprived, you reach down and ignore it. You call it part of you even though it isn’t. It is still floundering around in your soul, deprived of any recognition. People think it is you. They follow you through thickets and swamps, believing that you will guide them out of their boredom. You sugar-coat their journey with pleasure and promises. You appear like a golden halo with nothing but goodness to offer. Your voice is overpowering and your smile is that of a saint. You are the substitute of truth and beauty. You are the beautiful cover that adorns the book with empty pages inside. You are the nothing that calls itself something.
You also invented a new music. What is missing in its beauty, you covered it up with your glitter. You sent beautiful dancers and lights to suffice for the melody and harmony. Instead of the music taking you on an imaginary trip to the kingdom of the heart, they let the dancers do it as they display their beautiful bodies in motion. The loins are romanced by the beauty of the dancers, while the heart is deprived by the deficiency in the music. Without the visual effect, there is no imaginary carpet to ride on the way to heaven. With no bass and harmony, there is no carpet to lift you up.
You also exploit the natural beauty in art and mold it into your own kind of beauty. You call it art and pound it into the hearts and minds of the people. You won’t leave them alone to decide what is best for them. You dress it up with all your glitter and tell them they can’t live without it. You bleed them of their resources in your own selfish manner. You are the apple on the tree and the “Eve” in the Garden of Eden.
Looks are like the enchantress who is strangely beautiful, as if fashioned by a God. She moves like a proud peacock, as lovely as a white swan, but as wily as a serpent. She draws everyone to her as she gloats over herself. Her cosmetics cover up her true self, that person that she left behind at her first awareness of flattery.
Who can say that they are not drawn to her? Is a beautiful face more apt to draw attention than a common one? Is the beauty of the galaxy more overpowering to the astronomer than the information from the planets? Does that beauty climb inside and soothe his heart? How could he deny what it did to him? Beauty is as meek as a dove, but as fierce as a wolf. Beauty is the flame that lights up the inner domain of the heart.