A thousand feet have trod about,
some hurried, some meandering.
Attached to eyes fixed up and about,
looking for beauty in the world around them.
Missing, all the while, that beauty can be found in the dirt;
in the mud, in the sand, in the murk.
Hurts in the past , while may remain, last but a while.
The bleeding stops; the wound heals; the scar lightens.
There is still beauty to be found amidst such ugliness..
Wear your scars with pride; they tell a story, your story,
and, there is no greater story in all of history than the one you own.
Delicate petal of the mountain; grains of sand on the shore come together to write
One of being adored one day, and utterly battered and weathered the next.
Yet, both remain hardy. Relentless. Unyielding.
Look for the petal in the sand; be the beautiful thing in the dirt.