Level headed, keeping eyes
close to the vest, at best.
Not drawn to the sparkle,
left in the "dark" for the most part.
It's a start when beauty is beheld,
a wealth for the eyes, as it decries
all that glitters. Never a bitter glance,
askance or other wise, it flies
in the face of reason. Coveteous I am
not, a guy blinded by bauble or bead
does not succeed. It distracts and retracts
from the grounding found in youth.
Finding wonder in a mystic smile,
Venus de "Milo" meets memory,
and all that he can see, inspires.
Fires of passion seek repose in poem.
And there beauty resides.
It hides in the shadow of worded rhyme,
in time it finds the bright light of day.
Not blinded by the bling; allowing hearts to sing.
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