Glistening in cool water glade
goldfish lies, and silent, debates.

Dappling warmth in mellow shade
stirs urgent use for ****** traits.

Basking in green swaying braids,
makes certain aim, but goldfish waits.

Globey eyed and feed delayed,
pouts thickened lips, then hesitates.

Silver gleam of food parades
above liquid world and lust creates.

Goldfish moves, as swift leap made
dies then careless fly, and urge abates.

Never try for perfect.
Perfect will never come to you.

Besides,
Perfect is no fun.

Perfect is no passion,
Perfect is sane,
Perfect is nothing compared to

Laughter over taking risks,
The hot rush of tears when you're afraid,
But the warmth of light and relief
When you realize there's nothing
To be afraid of.

Perfect is nothing compared to

Your face hurting from smiling too much,
And your sides hurting from laughing too hard,
And drowsily dozing off
To the sound and heart beat
Of the person you love,
Mid-conversation.

Perfect does not compare,
To conversations so deep and filled with
Hope and lighting up
The darkest parts of our pasts,
That when you fall asleep,
I cannot help but to think back to them,
And kiss your cheek.

Perfect will not ever compare,
To waking up from a bad dream,
Alone and scared,
Only to realize you should not be scared,
Because you are not alone.

And your cries wake him up,
And he holds you and soothes you
And suddenly everything is okay.

Perfect cannot compare
To having the weight lifted off your shoulders
Just by seeing his smile.

You might think what you have is perfect,
But what we're doing
Is filled with trying
And striving
And going for our goals,
But perfect is nothing compared,
To the you that makes me whole.

Let your imagination captivate you
As you turn the page
Information will sink in
And you will become sage
The world is an open book
When you feed your mind
Continue to educate yourself
And you will do just fine

There are secrets I do not tell
even to myself.
They are the same secrets
the cherry bossoms
know when they
proliferate the cherry trees.
Even as they prepare
to fall like confetti.

They are the
babbling secrets
Of  the mountain streams
as thier waters bounce stunned
into the rocks of the rapids.

Hush whispers the librarian
As the rows
and volumes of books.
Keep their dusty secrets
in her silence.

In the garden
The fluted speakers
Of the morning glory.
Sing only silence
Falling asleep
into dreaming nights.

Just about audible
the taunting voices
Of the
whippoorwill

Never tell
Never tell
Never tell.

I see birds overhead.
Flying free.
Once again.
So many!
With white-tipped wings.
In the wind.
And I am reminded...
that God is setting me free.
From slavery.
I am flying free.
More every day.
And someday...
I will be free.
Completely.