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I let go,
and it all flies away.
I hold on,
and it molds like clay.
but slippery hands
let loose the strings
that hold beauty
down with wings.

Nifty little poem, I think. I like its succinct economy and credible rhyme. I'm not sure, though, how the last word, "wings" works, whether it is that beauty has wings or that wings somehow hold down beauty (...or both?)

I really like the meaning behind this. Good job.