There is true beauty in this world

True genius

 

There are people who make music

That soothes the soul

 

People who paint pictures

That release the dreams

Held inside

Like trapped insects

Waiting to escape the jar

 

There are great thinkers

Philosophers

Cursed by their genius

Doomed to ask why

Not just lie down

Drinking from the tap

Running on the wheel

 

There are noble men and women

Who give so much

Take nothing in return

 

There are writers and poets

Like ants

Straining under the burden

Desperate to spew forth their ideas

Their lives

Onto a page

For others to enjoy

Or at least take notice of

 

There is so much beauty and life

Birds swoop and soar

Whales the size of football pitches

Calling to one another from across the sea

 

There is David Bowie

 

And yet

If we are the ants

The soldiers

With the world on our backs

Why must we celebrate the butterflies

 

The colourful

Garish

Short lived

 

The screamers

The shouters

 

Those draped in finery

But offering nothing more

Than a day of sham beauty

 

Then dissolve

Dissipation

Like dust

 

Leaving the rest of us

To pick up the pieces

Of yet another

Fucked up generation

 

Kissing the feet

Of the mundane