One simple, passing, honest glance at the polished facade
And there is a question within your brilliant eyes
The answer to which can shatter chandeliers
There are shards of diamond on the floor
With a thought you cut them to dust
Then shrug off the shining ashes
Calling yourself nothing much
But in rags you are grace
The perfect elegance
Eyes that conquer
Crystalline form
Yet cannot see
Their own
Image
Why?
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