The perfect poem,
it must have perfect rhymes,
perfect stanzas,
perfect wordings.
But it goes deeper,
much deeper than that.
The perfect poem,
it must be sung, not said.
The perfect poem,
it must be wept over,
must be held with gentle hands,
must be beautiful.
The fingers that draws this,
this perfect poem,
it's soul seeking and heart ripping.
This perfect poem must be treasured.
The start must be addictive,
the middle lustful,
and the end just as harsh as,
as true love's goodbye.
The perfect poem,
where people can relate,
where people connect,
where people can fall loose.
That thin line between
ordinary and extraordinary,
that thin line between
pretty and beautiful.
The perfect poem,
one will never achieve,
because as much as we are same,
we are different.
These are just words,
words to be read.
It can only go so far,
but it's only the singer
that changes one's life.
YOU ARE READING
Little Things in Life
Random"I hate a Roman named Status Quo!" - Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
