The world is like a renaissance painting
there’s beauty in suffering
although suffering is not beautiful
The observations of the small things
the unity and harmony within all the ugly
If being happy is an illness then some of us are sick
It’s macabre to adore the bleak
and the splinters that appear gilded
spear bloody through wishes
In dark days the sun will shine
and God will always come to the fore
with cadence
PaleDeerPoetry 