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Perfect Imperfection


Tesseract_Witch

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(This is more so a lyric essay--prose--rather than a poem. It is my description about the "perish" of decency in the world so described by my parents--but I cannot truly be certain; perhaps you older members can authenticicate that).

 

We are not perishing, for we had not built to be an object unperishable;

For such an object would never have perished,

Such would have weathered every element.

But who is to say we have been marred;

What is a human being if not only so--and yet, we are only human.

Perhaps we have not become unperishable and shan't ever be;

But if it requires the perfect blend of imperfection to make matter human,

Then who is to say that we are not perishing...?

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