Beauty for Beyond Times

The fresh smell of beauty sinks into my senses.  I am enlightened, floating on air.  The aroma that fullfills me also consumes me, poisons me, I can't let go.  In this instance I am nothing else but the final result of your last victory.  This beauty it will be the death of me, but I don't mind at all.  In the last moments of the wonderful life that was pitted with trial I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, the justice done to the liberators and their friends.  They have recieved their due rewards and I am glad.  Sometimes when I fall asleep I see the world through the eyes of innocence, a black and white shade upon everything, in that vision I am color blind, and everything makes so much more sense.  But when I awaken without the dim shroud a multi-colored facet of acts blasts my vision, and my thoughts.  The ones that I process a mingled and folded together, I can't slumber here, I can't see the innocence, however there is something else that soothes me, joy, love, beauty, not of only the physical design but something within, something innate.  That in there, in that spacious room inside the soul, beauty resides, and I am happy, I am content, I am whole.  Life may be fading, or writhing in pain, but give me the soft touch of beauty's hand, and I can be calmed enough to have visions of another alternate world, where pain does not exist, but when beauy cannot get to me, I have the touch memory of everything, of all the good, so that if i should pass on from this plane to the next, I can do so with visions of you, of her, of him, of everything, and then I can smile, I can cry the tears of joyous relief, joyous relief that swells upon me, and all about me, like a heavy wind pushing on the rain.  And I am whole, I am real, I am alive, until im not.  But in that not, why should I worry, for I am not at all.