Bless the child,
Who revels in the glow that surrounds
What they believe to be a natural
Artistic sentiment of expression
Insufficient, is what we begin with,
What we are given, is nothing,
But a seed that we must grow well
Enough to harvest and cultivate beauty
Bless the adult,
Who foresaw this disastrous outcome,
This unnatural craving,
for decadence upon our lives
Tinker not a machine or automation,
But your very self, to ensure
A new being as lavish as you wish
That you shall have to maintain
Bless the artist,
Who gave into this greed,
and tinkered with themselves truly,
But who emerged more than a shadow
The beauty that makes a difference,
Remains without perfection
Ultimately, struggles with the concept
Should this beauty emerge,
It shall be forever yours,
Undiluted and pure
But never the innocent beauty,
That a child perceives
-Poem Fanatic
