Beautiful

What do you see when I speak of beauty? Fair skin and curvaceous roads your fingers long to travel? Or rather long views over deep wonders full of color? I think of none of these. I see opposition. I see struggle. An insatiable appetite for defiance against a single order. Succumb. When I think of beauty I think of a subtle smile through cold pain with wild fire leaping from fixed eyes. This is truly beautiful to me. For through this image of the human spirit your vistas and vixens were won, and in the pale comparisons you see rays of the one truly beautiful thing. Freedom.