Let it speak, let it speak
let it tell if you're strong or weak
let it tell about your passions
let it tell about your week

let it speak, let it speak

let it talk, let it talk
let it sprout them legs and walk
let it take you around the world
let it fly like a hawk

let it talk, let it talk

let it go, let it go
let it outside and let it flow
let it pour right on out
let it wet the rocks below

let it flow, let it flow

If there was a such this as
perfect

it would be found in the
simple

A child’s smile
a mother’s love
a father’s protection

if perfect
could be theorized philosophically
placed into linguistic terms
there could be no words
no label grand enough
no construction simple enough
save only laughter

if perfect
could be understood mathematically
it would be either be a 1 or a 0
no other representations yields the same
universal and instant ease of understanding
that children instinctually grasp the idea

yet

the same children
when grown
could spend  their life exploring the complexities


If perfect
could be known on a spiritual level
it would be that moment one realizes there is a god
ascending to level of worship and devotion
others mistake them for the god they serve

or

it would be that moment when one rejects all divinity
professing that all in creation is not of creation
but of nature and nurture
the only guiding force is the will to survive  

If perfect
could be expressed in dance or music
there would only be
one motion
one note
maybe none
stillness
silence

If perfect
could be expressed on canvas or in stone
it would be such that the work would
never be started
untouched
maybe never completed
unfinished

Perfect
is as simple as knowing that one can never see one’s own face
what one knows as one’s one image
is only a reflection
what’s more is that a person is the only person that can never see ones own image
yet all they encounter sees them exactly as they are
exactly as they never can

Perfect perfection
is realization
not thought
not contemplation

Perfection is everything labeled imperfect

The only imperfect thing
is the word its self

© Christopher F. Brown 2013