This poem is imperfect
My writing is imperfect, wouldn’t you say?
You may enquire about the structure, the articulation of the words…
You may know you can write better than this.
My music is imperfect, wouldn’t you say?
Perhaps you are impressed by my ability, the sweet notes of my melody…
We know Beethoven can play better.
I am imperfect, wouldn’t you say?
Do you notice my despairing sorrow; my tardiness to create?
Will I backtrack and correct my errors?
You are imperfect, wouldn’t you say?
Are you at all imbalanced, enervated in search of joy?
Can we forever be happy?
Our thoughts are imperfect, wouldn’t you say?
Every one of us is impure, we can never be divine.
Do you sense the abstruse joy in your imperfections?
This poem is imperfect…
Wouldn’t you say?
_________________
Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared.