Perfect Imperfection

My most recently written. I actually wrote just a couple hours ago. Please enjoy. 

Certain things in life are perfect

But no one cares about those

I don’t care about the clear blue sky or a fresh fluffy bathrobe

Boring

I care about the perfectly imperfect

I care when hearts are broken and lives are changed

I care when there is pain and death; don’t we all?

When things are perfect, why care?

Nothing to work for, nothing to better

No reason to focus on it

But when things are imperfect, they capture my mind

They draw it in and puzzle it with a task

How to fix the imperfect?

When things are perfectly good, we smile

We tell ourselves it’s good, and that’s all we want

When things are perfectly bad, we frown

And give up hope, for what purpose does worry serve?

Why bother to care when it serves no benefit?

So we don’t care.

When things are perfectly imperfect…we work

A problem to solve, an idea to ponder

Thoughts to work out, help to seek

Challenges to overcome, things to do, so many things to do

We crave the perfect good

But we enjoy it not

Only that which is imperfect

May satisfy the human craving

May sate our working minds and cure our boredom

Only that which is imperfect

Is what makes our lives worth living

In utopia, there is nothing

Nothing of consequence, nothing to care about

But in this world of problems
of solutions, of curiosity and achievement

In this world of imperfection, we thrive