No matter the circumstance, will you remember this?

There is an unseen beauty
in the charcoal gray of a morning mist
that is so pure, this beauty,
so deeply embedded into the throat of time
that we have no choice but to keep it within us, as we would
our first morning's breath,
our last evening's blink of slow and merciful eyes
our mother's own skin, from womb to realm
and we cannot rid ourselves of it,
this beauty,
no matter the red rain at midnight
the black air at our lips
the shuddering of infants abandoned
in a ditch,
no matter, these,
for this beauty
is felt and not heard
kept and not stolen
eternal and not
tragic,
revolutionary
and not returned.