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
There is a lot of wisdom inside these words. So many bits–Well, done.