Yes

It’s not tomorrows long forever,
nownever, or a yesterday’s thought
that made this live, what ever,
there it stood saying: “Look
at me, I am beauty, look at
me, am I not something you
have felt, feeling while
maybe trying to live, living,
giving.” I feel my paint soul
saying look at me, beauty
painted

This all I could understand
though I cupped my hand to my ear
and listened. I moved closer, but
soon my very nearness seemed to make
it much softer a harder to hear
and in not being able to understand,
came fear, frightening me. I ran, running
to someone, something to help me in
my understanding the fear of not knowing.

I passed past memories in my flight.
Fright stopped me from asking them for
their help in my not knowing.
Pride stopped me from showing
my need to understand. It kept
coming back to me: “I am beauty
living, I feel my painted soul,
my paint of beauty.”

I passed a river of scarlet fishes.
I softly sang to them: “Can
you not feel its painted beauty?
Or does your cold wet home
not let you know of other's
love for their own beauty?”
They but swam up stream and
did not even answer or
at least I did not understand
if they did. It made me feel
alone, lonely. So much in fear
I ran fast, harder, on and on
for they seemed not to care
if this beauty existed for
its eternity. So run, ran,
running the winds caught my
moving mane wrapping it
about my face in a fears lace

blinding me to all I passed in my
race to find the silent sound I
so wanted to know, the secret
understanding of this beauty painted
soul, that quench my thirst could,
this blind pace of fear would STOP,
fright of the unknown, darkest
night cold alone, all tears blinding
be stopped. Stop unknowing. I stood
relistening, through my hair mane
glistening came a morning light.
My fear chase was run, now shown
the sun giving its light, warmth
to the scarlet fish flowing river
song. They knew singing, it is
beauty. Didn’t you know?


So now I return to the place
I began, came the voice soft on
the wind. I listened, it said: “I
am beauty, am I not, look at me and
love. Look at me, am I not something
you have felt, feeling my painted
souls saying yes. I am all beauty and
yes to you I do give it.”

It said very softly
Yes.

Story by Tony Mafia, 1974. Yes to you I give it.