We all strive
To be our best version
Of a perfect self

We all want
The perfect body
The perfect things
The perfect poems

But the funny
Thing is

It’s always
The quirk
The flaw
And
The ingenuity
That always stands out

Like the last Roman empire
  Our republic is but a facade
Capitalism has sold out to corporatism
  Our establishment has sold out to the highest bidder


I join the quitters..

A life every poem lives
Short or long
maybe a song
A tale to tell, a story to relive

Touches many hearts, maybe not
Each a piece of art, of someone’s heart

Some live long, a forever song
Some in oblivion
Lost in the ether
A poem that was written