September 3, 2011
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What a strange word,
What is perfect to me,
Is not perfect to you,
What is perfect to you,
Is not perfect to me,
In reality,
We are both fantasing,
Nothing on this world is perfect,
Nothing at all,
Is that not what we were always told?
Is that not what we were expected to believe as children?
I am here to tell you that that is wrong,
That is a lie, my friend,
A lie created to surpress creativity,
A lie invented to halt invention,
A lie,
A lie,
A lie,
Things are perfect,
If you look through a child's mind,
A child has a sense of creativity,
A sense of invention,
A sense of pretend,
These are nessasary factors,
For things to be perfect,
A stick can become a perfect sword,
A swing, a dragon,
An arroyo can be seen as an endless desert,
A knapsack can transform them into a soilder,
Or a cardboard box can turn into a fortress,
All of these things are perfect to a child,
But, alas, nothing stays perfect for children,
For, throughout all of the excitement and awe,
The sword is damaged,
The mighty dragon is abandoned,
The fortress is defeated,
For children, perfect is a temporary description,
For adults,
Perfect is harder to grasp,
But easier to hang on to,
The one thing that is perfect of people of all ages,
Is love,
A child's love for their mother,
A mother's love for her child,
A husband's love for his wife,
A wife's love for her husband,
Love is one of the few things that can be described as perfect,
By all generations,
Thus, love is the one thing that can be called perfect,
Without imagination.

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