A sunset's nothing.
lots of little light rays
through clouds at dusk.
And beauty -
Beauty itself, that's
neurons firing, and
to make you think you think
Painting's contrast and composition.
Poetry's word choice, mixed with metaphor.
And music's merely chord progression,
syncopated in the second-to-last three bars.
Everything you feel can be reduced
to mere techniques placed side by side,
to learn, define and neatly sort
in dusty files marked
This Is Beauty.
so someday hence when we grow old,
when children stare at evening skies,
we'll explain away their thoughts
in fancy little abstract nouns.