It’s like looking at a diamond
Shaped from it’s raw, natural form

Cleaved
Bruted
Polished
Inspected

No imperfections
Proclaimed beautiful
By man’s standards, anyway

We see the light shine through it
It’s beam filtered through each facet

Each facet formed by machine
Machines formed by hand
Flawed hands

The light is scattered
We each claim to see the light
We wonder at it’s beauty
Or is it the thing refracting we find beautiful?

We don’t even see the light in its native form
Only a reflection
Shaped by man-made beauty

We see only a distorted glow
Not even its source

But we value the thing above all others