Perfect

I used to believe nothing is perfect, 

that everything which seems to be perfect is just a better, 

worked upon version of something not quite complete.

I used to believe in the incompleteness of things,

in the imperfection of people,

until I saw you.

Until I saw that slightly tanned hand, 

with a red bracelet on it's wrist,

pushing aside a loose strand of those glossy brown hair, 

from that impossibly innocent looking face.

Until I saw your eyes smile, those glossy bead, 

in perfect symphony with your lips,

and your hands move,

in perfect coordination with those legs.

Until I heard a song, 

never heard of before and so melodious

that it was almost painful to hear,

come out of a person,

who had started to seem more and more mine,

the more time I spent with her.

Until you held my hand, 

on that starry starry night,

as together we soaked in the silence,

of the world around us,

and within us.

Yes you made me believe the impossible,

and I grateful for that.

You made be feel the impossible, 

and I love you for that.

Yes I still do believe that things are imperfect,

that there is something amiss,

in every beautiful thing.

But I cannot say the same about people anymore.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree Roch.
"Yes I still do believe that things are imperfect,
that there is something amiss,
in every beautiful thing."
The above lines. Worthwhile and true thoughts. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry. You made the reader think.
Coyote

[Najam Us Saher]

I loved the theme and the way you explained your statement in the poem further by justifying your statement. I enjoyed reading this. Thank you so much for sharing.

[Roch Ketchum]

Thanks a lot for reading this!

[Najam Us Saher]

You're welcome.