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The musicality of being is the crashing of a waterfall
Gongs clashing, anguished moaning
It is the manifestation of drama, in the form of contrast
Within a single form.

It is the quality of aesthetic choice
The decision between the garish contrast of magenta and emerald
Or the more soothing melding of pink, black and tan.
I am called upon by the creative, by the lovers of art and sensuality
To give them just the right scheme, that their works may be beautiful

I manifest in ritual and ceremony
Making the beautiful remain
While the ugliness of its origin is forgotten
I trim dresses with lace, the winds with fragrance
Give leaves the faintest touch of gold
And bark a broad swath of purple
I am the dashing abstract artist and the effeminate interior decorator
The pastry cook who plants a creamy rose just slightly off center
And the freak sewing a gown of satin and denim
To wear at the orgy.

I mediate the changing seasons, adding a dash of frost or ice
A chill in the cool autumn night
A wind on a broiling day
I add a touch so welcome that one must say "Ah, at last."
I am also the critic finding that there is something missing
In the latest masterpiece
As well as the moustache on the fair lady
Added for a touch of humor

I call out my challenge
"The world can be perfect and beautiful, if you will just make it so;
Expend the effort."
And from it has come
Gardens and revolutions, utopias and fascist states
Journeymen and counterfeiters, poets and panhandlers
Each altering the environment around him
To his conception of the beautiful.

I do not destroy unpleasant forms
Rather, I add the perfect background
And make it the fullest expression
Of unique attractiveness.
Nor do I only wish the shining, but the matte as well
Rust as well as iron, thorns and flowers
I weave them into a new design
For the world to pass, to praise or damn
As is their preference.

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