I won't write a story of perfect love,
Where we sing our praise to the heavens above;
Where blue skies fill every day,
And there's no such thing as gray.

I won't write a story with only white,
For there's equal meaning in the night;
Perhaps the point of a plight,
Is to prove you're prepared to fight.

I won't write a story where there's no dark;
For though each moment leaves its mark,
It merely makes the light matter more,
And instills an essence never seen before.

I won't write a story without dejection,
For it could never be true;
But what need have I of perfection,
As long as I have you?

Here's a poet's plight:
To force words to come is a fight;
Gorgeous nothings hold no light;
Meaning shall not bow to might.

Thirty thousand words or more –
All just sounds heard before;
But somewhere deeper there's a door,
A certain feeling from some core.

Or, in clearer words:
I have nothing Great to say,
but That shouldn't stop me anyway
From speaking when I feel I must;
No other way to reverse this rust.

Perfection is a savage
Curse to ravage the mind
'Round and round in circles, growing blind.

But of all the stones and stars
Or overpriced, shiny cars
The greatest gift of all you give
Is that you let me gently live.

You accept me as I am,
Tarred and scarred and marred with gray,
There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay
When they won't be judged anyway.

There's this frustrating little tic
Where no words can quite click
Because no lovely language can compress
or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space
That could give a hint of a trace
Of the meaning that was felt.

Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient,
Nothing Great, simply true:
You're wonderful as you.

You're welcome to join,
This ride needs no coin;
If you really want to touch the sky,
If every song in your soul screams to fly,
Leave what you think and know at the door
To go somewhere you've never been before.

I know you're scared to take the chance;
Thus the game sets the stage,
But take the plunge and learn the dance;
You'll finally find that forgotten page.

There's something absent in your days;
And so we struggle through the maze,
Finding other ways to play,
Just to bite back at the gray.

Not *** nor drugs nor wealth
Can ever bring true health;
The only lasting way is to be yourself,
And let your life ring true.
Until you do,
There's something missing, and it's you.