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The Mysteries of One's Own Contemplation

Updated on March 6, 2012

I look into the hills beyond myself

Their beauty I breathlessly admire against

The evening sun, setting behind its own sweet vanity


But then I begin to ponder

Why? Why can't everyday a view such as this take place?

Should something such as this always be so rare?

But again I ponder


Maybe it is just an illusion

An illusion to deceive me from true beauty

A beauty that is present only within myself


Or maybe it is the divine of creation that I see

A creation that I can never truly comprehend

In front of me, me, a mere mortal


In a moment, however, these heresies stop

The spectacle of reality takes hold of me

And I disregard these mysteries

Mysteries that I cannot contemplate or understand


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