How is it we find beauty
in the simplest stone?
Something which reflects nothing else
of taste to the the eye.
Is it deja vu -
searching for a memory
through the amorphous?
Or simply, that nothing within us
exists within the stone?
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How is it we find beauty
in the simplest stone?
Something which reflects nothing else
of taste to the the eye.
Is it deja vu -
searching for a memory
through the amorphous?
Or simply, that nothing within us
exists within the stone?
