This attraction of one for another from where does it come? The image of beauty cached deep in our soul This source that dictates and defines Is there something real or is it a result of marketing? That withering vision that constantly bombards us We have become buyers of covers Cover Boys and Cover Girls We don't look deeply seeing only the surface Which is the least true part of anyone or anything Never asking "are they kind?" Opting instead for: Are they fat Or skinny Or old Or young Or tall Or short Or too brown Or too white? We don't seek inner strength muscles are enough But muscles turn to flab and a steady diet of judging others, and ourselves by external frailty Leaves little to comfort us As the inevitability of time suddenly forces us to face age old old age facts