Long Imperfection Poems
Long Imperfection Poems. Below are the most popular long Imperfection by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imperfection poems by poem length and keyword.
Silence is deafening
The silence booms in my ears
The room is so peaceful but I have no fears
The noise of the silence is almost deafening
I can feel peace and to me - it is beckoning.
It’s not often I have time to myself
I can share my thoughts all to my own self
I can actually look inside my head
I can listen to me and not others instead.
This is peace and this is perfection
But I realise there is one little imperfection
I have grabbed an hour alone
I do not live like this, all on my own.
To some this must be the height of pain
To those I would wish there was something to gain
From the quiet and the solitude that I find so rare
For some of us we do not want to share
So to those that are lonely at any time or year
I wish you good fortune and someone to hear
Your plea for some company, I wish that for you.
But let me have my hour of solitude too.
Through the vacant corridors
of my heart
Echos of a love lost that
once tore me apart
In an infinite vacuum, it’s as
if each beat cries out
Wishing for a time that was,
yet still holds doubt
How it had blossomed as
its essence unfolded
It’s imperfection around my
soul had molded
Imagined expressive sweet
allure and grace
Destined lotus petals held within
a tender embrace
An act of the spontaneous
creation revealed
Didn’t matter if it had to be kept
forever concealed
Calling out to a heart with its
expressed invitation
Definitions and concepts
unknown realization
Promised of a unification of two
hearts and beings
Blinded by obstacles somehow,
felt very freeing
Sitting upon creations reality
it had seemed fused
In the end the complexity had
left one feeling so used
All these little flaws
That you see in my design,
Can you get rid of them
If they’re so easy to find?
I’m not perfect, but I’m horribly designed.
All these imperfections built within me
Only keep holding me back from
Being the best person that I can be.
I wonder if I can give you the keys
To control my thoughts and actions,
Create the perfect me that can please.
Maybe there’s some worth in that.
Reality keeps slipping through my fingers.
I can no longer see what matters to me.
It might be best for someone else to take over.
I’ve done nothing meaningful with these hands of mine.
The darkness where I can fade into calls me.
I could take one more step and be gone.
I don’t have to worry about how I was designed,
Because all the imperfections will disappear.
This image of me, now so many years later
each year looking, I’ve found some imperfection
Mirror-mirror, why should I ask - my time won't last,
peering into you, gray now, not young only faultiness,
years passing, why my image in my mirror
should have creaked by, each year looking
will my image fade in front of my Looking glass
I did Love being strong, young, only gray I see
so now seeing time as if it stood still each time,
touching this image onto my glass of memories past
wrongs, rights, scars, lifetime stories untold all mine
My life has found its way full circle to gray, at last
things I see now in my looking glass,
are all part past, present, future, why I’m handsome
graceful, I see each year in me, as if with class
so I will leave my mark, love, to touch someone
In the vast tapestry of life, where thoughts weave threads of untamed dreams,
we move like wandering stars through galaxies of happenstance,
seeking directions in the random constellations of existence,
where reason unravels in waves of mist and fleeting light.
Philosophies are maps drawn on the sands of time,
promising us islands of certainty in the endless ocean of doubt,
but how to navigate when the compass of the heart is drawn to the poles of uncertainty,
and the storms of emotions embrace us with their unforeseen arms?
We wish to be the architects of our own destiny,
yet we are sculpted by the changing winds of fate,
like sand statues on the shores of ephemeral memories,
where the waves of time erase the traces of unfulfilled desires.
Emotions are violins with strings of gold and silver,
resounding in the symphony of the body with notes of passion and longing,
and even if we wish to conduct them with the baton of will,
they play to the unseen score of life,
in a harmony of chaos and misunderstood beauty.
In this cosmic dance of chance,
where every step carries us toward the unknown,
we learn to embrace our fragility with wings of unseen courage,
to find poetry in the imperfection of each moment,
and to let ourselves be carried by the magical currents of destiny,
for only in embracing the unexpected do we discover the true magic of life.
eating my spaghetti sandwich
downing my potato pancakes
running through my deluxe taco salad
it is time for bed already
looking for my dessert
longing for my dessert
cannot find my dessert
doggonit if she did not eat my mixed signal dessert
alas! in the overstuffed pantry, hidden behind the hidden, is a box of vanilla protein bars
and she says i do not eat healthy
i read the ingredients
i see the healthy benefits in MY eyes
yep, i can watch the cheaters marathon for night owls
quite a hoot for i who usually has no loot
here she comes
hands on hips
looking beautiful without the makeup
she sits beside me and puts her head on my shoulder
i look at her with the utmost admiration despite her imperfections
she then pinches me, reminding me of the silent hypocrisy
as the third episode of cheaters begins, the journey song sneaks into my mind
you just don't mess up Perfect Imperfection
Forever Hers......Faithfully.......
the food has digested now by cheaters, episode seven
time for bed
In a Mother’s hand
You will find patience
Perseverance and dedication
The ability to look past imperfection
In a Mother’s hand
You will find courage
Strength and understanding
An acceptance of responsibility
In a Mother’s hand
You will find discipline
Advice and encouragement
A need to provide guidance
In a Mother’s hand
You will find love
Compassion and generosity
A place of protection
In a Mother’s hand
You will find pride
Honor and integrity
A governess of principles
In a Mother’s hand
You will find a reflection
Of all her hopes and dreams
And the sacrifices she made
In a Mother’s hand
You will find the hand of a child
Naive to the worth of
A Mother’s hand
Until
A child’s hand is within their own
Form:
You cry: "Oh No!", as your cherish beloved pot
lies shattered into pieces
at your feet, splattered in tears,
echoing your sobs and muttered moans.
"What to do?" you ask.
You could try to glue it back together,
but it's impossible to hide the cracks
and jagged ends of the mends.
Just before you are about to throw it away
"Ah Ha", a Eureka moment!
I think I will try Kintsugi,
Which exemplifies the beauty
within imperfection,
showcasing the breakage lines with
gold thread and paint along the cracks and repairs.
Then, the pattern made by the golden cracks
creates a beautiful natural scene
like the branches of a tree or
the pattern of a river drawn from nature.
The breakage is celebrated, not hidden away to deceive.
This is the spirit of 'wabi-sabi'
which is the acceptance and exoneration,
of transience and imperfection,
with the added simplicity of
incompleteness and fragility.
Not hiding the faults, failings and flaws within patched repairs,
but accepting their inevitability in time.
So the lesson is that "Broke ain't that bad really!",
"Not such a big, sad deal, after all".
In the real world transience is accepted as the norm.
Perfection is ultimately unattainable and cannot last,
as it quells the joys of simplicity and acceptance.
Perfection is extinct, never existed in nature!
"Things happen", don't they,
anytime, anywhere, randomly, with or without cause.
So don't let what's broken
become a lasting
consequential loss.
Fix it with Kintsugi!
she was a beautiful and rare wildflower
peaceful and delicate
but with vibrant untamed hues
she had a blaze
that no one could grasp or contain
so she confined her truth in solitude
she often felt lost and consumed
by the bleak shattered illusion
of the world around her
it was too distressing a place
to settle her sensitive stem
it would smother her oxygen
and sift her energy into
depths of darkness
when her heart flooded
with loneliness and fear
she would lock her walls
fold her life
and paint her windows black
the beauty
anchored deep within her heart
would begin to fade
when she could no longer
find the path
back to her source of strength
she would sit in hush
waiting for any like one
to come
to water
no one ever did
when the pain became unbearable
she descended into madness
no longer questioning,
no longer reasoning
but content to
not be
until
there was no more
she sat in silent playgrounds
listening to children laughing
she enjoyed the indulgence
of a soft encounter with hope
she watched as the
final crumpled leaf
hung from its tree
dangling alone
waiting for the last hale
of winters icy sigh
she was the swimmer who intently
dove into oceans of sand
her heart weighed heavy
with exhaustion
burdened by the
ceaseless meaningless,
struggle of life
to which she
could not understand
she felt resigned
that life existed
and when over,
one could walk gently away
with no hesitation
or need to stay
but she was that rare wildflower
she had danced to the whims of the wind
and had weathered its torrential storms
the fire within her refused to relent
and she found resilience
to rise back into the light
each breath became a privilege
she returned as moments in gratitude
her journey became her solace
and it was there she found her truth
she was reminded that
emptiness in life floats into butter-colored warmth
because it needs to heal
sadness in life is the addiction
of re-living anything
that ever made one's heart soar
perfection in life bows in gratitude
to complete imperfection
and imperfection in life
is the essence
of hope
at birth
rising
We press on, bound to yesterday, dragging chains through time’s tight whirlwind,
The prisoner is not the one who has erred, but the one haunted by their mistakes.
We are all guilty of the great crime: not learning to be simple,
But by choosing to be free, we can liberate ourselves from the endless, dark past.
We carry with us the void of imperfection, a heavy and dense cross,
Aged shadows, the echoes of a life that could be golden, with a mere gesture.
Striving to fit into destiny’s overture, to bend to the celestial tune,
We can reflect the stars within us, trading remorse for the triumph of true living.
Oh, mystical existence, cast away the weights that bend my soul,
Transform me from captive to seeker – to hold the egg of life in my palm.
I will face my demons unarmed, declaring my freedom in the waltz of life,
I will own every moment – forging a living temple from the desire to start anew.
Be the guiding star in the fog of discouragement that has tightened around my heart,
A wooden lighthouse, burning with the flame of renewed and purified reality.
I now leave the shield of the past, the essence of rediscovery pulsing in hidden seas,
At the dawn of my freedom, failure becomes just an echo, and life – a revived painting.
Let mystery bloom wild in the heart of my secret garden,
And the totem of forgetfulness fall to ruins, new sparks struck from fate’s flint.
Forward I will go, bound only by the vastness of the sky, its untarnished azure,
For I am the alchemist of my own essence – turning time into pure gold.