Uncontrollable Naivity

Beauty doesn't describe us,
Such a bond doesn't exist between our kind
Beauty is pure, crystallized gold
Our words are gifts of nothing but glorified coal,
bodies injected with cures from death and pulses of others who deserve

How are we like this?
A pawn that can be placed for doom at the looming strike?
convinced we're necessary, our bodies multidimensional, our fire clear of smoke
but It is true I must admit
the layers of kin fall as fast as the lead in our clouds

While the men with swords "fight" for their existence
the dogs leap at the scraps handed by the Coventry
pulses of greed doesn't describe beauty
neither does the “light” within us

the minerals of mountains, flowers, air
filled with the nothing of grace, but the will of fortitude
as the beating of pulses of blood heal wounds
the questions never asked give only words in an authors wake

how to hearts beat with blood of stone?
say our intentions are beautiful flowers on black coal
and that the delivery from each stork is not another cursed eagle

how can anyone be pure?
why are we not ashamed?
beauty is a word meant for the deserving
for the ones in which no other is worthy