A perfect pen,
a perfect mind.
Would the words
be anymore requited, then?
The perfect day,
the perfect place.
Would it make the Sun
shine any other way?
Unburdened and cast aside,
such a mantle
as what we wore
through those uncertain times.
Keep the sword,
but doff the armor,
and let the daylight
play across your face.
Life was never perfect,
and so,
there is no point
in gazing over your shoulder.
Let the day play out
perfect
in every way
that you are in it.
There are no perfect words,
nor perfect mouths
to speak them.
There is no perfect time,
but the one we choose to live.
We used to hide our hearts
for fear
of the archer’s arrow,
but now,
we stand open
in the light of day.
So quickly we have gone
from shallow, haunted creatures,
to ones whose minds
are full of new ideas.
Imagine,
that all we had to do
is shed the signs we clung to,
but we were born
in darkness
and never knew the day.
Not like this;
not this way.
Not in this fervent purity.
Honey golden Sun
and clean air.
No, it is not perfect,
nor are we.
We are studies in flaw,
but we know of love,
now
that we are able.
HG – 2022
