It’s said practice makes perfect
But perfection is impossible
Anything we do is but an approximation
Of the perfection that could be
Why is it I lack the words
To define the very essence
Of the thoughts I wish to convey
All I find is frustration
Practice, practice, every day
Still the words won’t come
Some sound good, others okay
But my work is never done
Imperfect in its perfection
That is all I can do it seems
There’s something greater in this
Within my mind, a sprouting seed
I have built this grand scheme
Around which spin stars and worlds
So many stories to be told
But explain is all I can do
Explanations of the perfection
But its explanation is imperfect
All I seek is a happy medium
To help you read the unexpected
Written 9-24-2013
