Bless This Imperfection

When I think of you
I desire imperfect poetry.

I hear a siren call
From heaven,
Warning me that everything
Has to be broken to begin.

It is her calling out for
An unstructuring of love,
So we can begin again
And find an imprecise humanity
Within us.

So we can both be right
With the world at last.

I could never want to sacrifice
Something so inherently good,
I just want to remain unaware
Of the consequences.

So that every ceramic memory
Can be cracked in time,
Then filled with gold lacquer
To become something stronger
And more beautiful.

So that every broken heart
Can be repaired then venerated
By cherished transience,
To become something stronger
And more impermanent.

We shouldn’t hide our scars.
They are written in our minds
And beyond the stars.

They are the story of who we are.

Love can enhance the scars,
And find rebirth in every crack of light
That finds its way through.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

'They are the story of who we are.' Breath shared yet not at the same time, space affirmed because there is no alternative. Perfection can fool itself as it can fool others elsewhere. Faults make human-kind the norm - achievable accessibility. Yours are words to play with and somehow feel like a winner.

[John F]

Thank you, lovely Emma. You always write such thoughtful reviews when you drop in!

[Laz K.]

this poem is amazing start to finish: deeply meaningful, emotional, and yet carefully measured and structured. the reference to the Japanese art of kintsugi is very apt. a really great poem overall!

[John F]

Thanks, Laz! Really appreciate the kind words and for picking up on the kintsugi reference!

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Love love loved it
The last verse was fabulous
Reminds me of Leonard Cohen the light gets in

[John F]

Thank you, Julie! Yes I was aware of that being a clumsy version of the Leonard Cohen line, but I couldn't find a way to move away from it in my head!

[Dessi]

This reminds me of Bukowski, well, I'm studying him, where he told about a friend who saw himself with gold (yellow) skin with big purple spots. He really sees this because others see it, too. He ends up going up on a knoll and setting off flares which causes the cops to come and they end up killing him!
He was broken! Not dangerous! Some of us have so many cracks that it's impossible to fix us.
Maybe he wanted to die. Strange, as he lay dying, he looked at his skin and it was back to normal.
Reminds me of the passage, "Into this world we are born without and we leave the same way. Without.
Thanks for your always provoking works :) Desiree'

[John F]

Thank you, Desiree! Appreciate the Bukowski comments very much!

[fallen.angel.]

I literally have goosebumps from reading this poem! No, not just reading -- experiencing this poem! I love the theme of breaking and reforging. I adore the choice of words and the imagery painted in my mind. I'm especially drawn to the lines "We shouldn't hide our scars. They are written in our minds And beyond the stars." They are words that my soul needed to read, and words that I will hold dear for a very very long time. Thank you for sharing your writing!

[John F]

Thank you for your very kind and generous review! I am very touched!