This is my attempt at a poem – *ahem*
I think this notion is nonsense in it’s entirety,
It’s like the nonsense of sobriety.
People are akin to a crooked photo frame,
Some look great in the pictures – some are lame.
Seeking something unfathomable even in the divine,
It akin to pulling the salt straight out of the brine.
It is akin to pulling the blue from the raven’s black,
As if you want the thunder, lightning but no loud crack.
Perfection is the illusion of the rose-colored mirror,
You think that it makes the view more clearer.
Everything is imperfect in this “perfection” we see,
Seeing every imperfection play it’s part I think is key.
For there is no clearer vision with sobriety,
I think there is much imperfect perfection:
In our world’s entirety.