Nothing is made perfect.
No modern day miracle
to remove damaged flaws
or hand out redemption
to those who would otherwise flee
in the face of overwhelming truth.
Truth.
It's burning a hole
through knowledge
through acceptance
through existence.
And I watch
as my soul seeps out
escaping into the in-between.
Where now the strength?
You decided long ago
it could never last
destined to wear then fade
unable to outwit the inevitable.
I could never last.
Because nothing is made perfect.
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This is the most you have said in a long time. I love this piece, Queen Monster.
ReplyDeleteFunny how poems develop- it started as one line going round in my head and when I sat down to write there it was. Yet I'm still not sure if the line 'nothing is made perfect' makes me happy or sad.
ReplyDeleteI am in deep empathy with that thought, dear Lady.
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