If Beauty is a wine we drink with our eyes
Then we are poisoned by a tainted brine
We were slipped when no one was looking.
And we are gorged, drunk to excess
As we revel in our freedom.
Freedom to be what we want, to be where we want.
Freedom to be who we want how we want to be…
But what the cost?
We sacrifice our imaginations for images,
Look to perfectly formed plastic faces
And marvel at what skilled artisans sculpted their figures
And never notice that we are becoming plastic.
Just like them.
This is the price of our indulgence:
We are Pollock, hurling our miseries onto the canvas of our bodies
And we are Gilligan, sailed too far from home, nowhere to rest
Trapped on our islands of self,
Not daring to brave the turbulent seas of relationships that
Weather the storm
That last longer than the first fight or flight.
We are safe.
We are secure.
We are free.
And we are alone and we are destroyed by our freedom, our gluttony
Our sinful self-indulgence.
Could we dare to see Beauty poured out for us
to save us
to rescue us from the seas of our isolation
And teach us how to sail?
Could we dare to Lose ourselves in Your Eyes
And discover ourselves truly found?