Beauty Vs Truth

"Beauty vs Truth"
  (Divine warfare)

A modest artist paints a self portrait, after each completed painting he tears it.  The splendor he creates inebriates his shame so much he cannot bear it.
The surrounding world has denounced such pearls of self made grandeur as slander,
but the astounding twirl in which he's furled asks "Am I not just a bystander?"

For how can a soul prevent or control what perception perceives as it wanders?
Is it a terrestrial facade, a grandeur collage, cyber montage, or hereditary honors?
Perhaps less unnerving be the thought if he ought to render the self as worthy. 
But certain thoughts trot atop to plop and pop up and in shocking him, disturbingly.
Holy graffiti, sprayed across his temple trains display.
Reconciliations plight might succumb to fright of the nights painted disarray within this mental fray,
if not for way of slighting this invention of his dismay. 

Night emerged itself in bold assertions to me arguing of its own benevolent necessity. 
This contradicts the depiction of the picture painted when grace gave itself as a present to me.
So presently, I have to accept and be gracious of this greatest treasure and its measure granted as wisdom extended its gesture, at the juncture I meshed this information in which we abode, dancing, I can only hope forever.  

For the many contrasts that have attempted to label duality throughout the aeons,
I choose to call them brothers, Beauty and Truth. 
Truth in its youth, was jealous of Beauty while Beauty feared what Truth with certainty knew. 
I'm sincerely shooting the straightest and most illumining of frameworks you may use to portray words across parallel planes in more plain terms. 
Good, evil, inner upheaval bequeathed to you, 
but if you sneakily catch what I'm beseeching as its creeping by beneath the sensory,
you'll have gleaned a scent of most scenic intent as it flashes its glint of divine glory, soveriegnly dispensing.