there is no perfect man,
there are the simple, the plain,
the whole of himself,
just so, contented in who he is,
needs not be, better than...

then he is on way to
upright, up and right
for the shades are clarified,
and those troublesome grays,
somehow have answers

his end is not peace,
his start, finish,
and all that is in between
one and the sane,
in simplicity comes
a joy of acceptance,
and therein is his path