Marks on my cheek are the patterns of disbelief,
In calloused love lasting for eternity,
Skins hide deep behind haughty lies,
Of sacred beauty I used to call mine.

Count the grains of sand that passes,
As the halcyon at the sea sails,
Sing the bird to a senseless sleep,
In the night silly men hunt relentlessly,
Unaware that these are places wise men wouldn't be.

The hunt for beauty is one too long,
As little shells travel big seas
for just a song,
They watch it, catch it,
preserve it for themselves,
The wise men know a
halcyon can't be withheld.

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a/n : Beauty, myths, stories and legends : things we both believe and speculate. It's often the same with us.