Friday, December 13, 2013

The Imperfect Is Perfect



Here comes Spring,
I try to wring
From each inventive writing
To unveil treasures hidden
Or forgotten.
Too often,
I see imperfection
In all human relation.
Does it make sense
That in the longing
Lies the glory of intense feeling
Inside your silent body?
With the most invaluable magic
Ties not to satisfaction,
But to the engine that
Powers it,
The imperfect is perfect.
Writing is burning profession.
If the joy is not overlooked
and the audience gets hooked,
Then nothing shall be impacted
And sorted to a digression.
 
 
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