Imperfect

I have reservations about the word "perfect." Still, I feel I am always a work in progress.

A kind soul is not enough to move one's heart

Tiny imperfections grow exponentialy with time

Verbose boasts take all held dear for granted

Stolen kisses shatter bonds of friendship

Now all is silenced by idle minds left to wander

Never enough is always a bit too much for some

Don't cry over spilt milk long turned to dust

Mistakes veiled to benefit all those involved

Old demons once again pulling the strings

Leaving just enough for one to hang themselves

Pushed too hard upon the youth of another

Past not mirrored still muddied and cracked

Words so sharp the very air is split in two

Hearts can't heal wounds not delivered by apathy

Shadow boxing oneself failed to defeat ego long ago

Give me your ear and I'll whisper not a word

False prophets take note of silver tongues

Page is absent yet the story is so very deep

Sorrow calls out names long before the race is over

Moving forward can still tear the ship apart on calm seas