No prize awaits the perfect line,
No end to chasing stars that shine.
Yet life, in whispers soft and sweet,
Is perfect where its flaws compete.
A jagged edge, a broken song,
The fleeting days both short and long.
A tender laugh, a bitter tear,
The dance of hope, the brush of fear.
Each crack upon the earth’s old face,
Each shadow in the moon’s embrace,
Reminds us there’s no need to mend
The truths that shape us in the end.
For in the chaos, beauty grows,
In every loss, a seedling sows.
Life’s perfection, wild and free,
Is simply this: to let it be.