Oh, beauty. So fragile, so fleeting. So, so sorrowful. To be trapped in your perfectly sculpted glass cage. To be admired by the select few, who have no right to gaze upon your god given grace. But to be freed, oh to be freed.

To let your glory, and your grace, be enjoyed by all. To eventually wither away, as is the cycle of life, but not before being loved and adored by all. To spread your benevolence so that one day you may look upon the fruits of your labour. For your life to be lived not by the rules of others, nor by the false pretence of safekeeping. But to be the master of your own fate. Not to long endlessly for something unobtainable only to you, but easily acquired to others.

Not to have your radiant light slowly die out until it but an ember of the raging inferno it once was.