when the jagged ragged edges
of being can close upon themselves in
reflection and acknowledgement and
acceptance of flaws the knives become scalpels
and the frayed edges suture themselves
into wonderful tapestry.

the dim star still lights a sky
with its magnitude
and the softest melody whispered in the storm
can calm a heart from raging.

The essence of perfect isn't of itself
rather the act of imperfection
folding upon itself, using cuts to
heal, and the unwoven to tie
what is hurt in its world together.

09/28/2018

Posted on 09/28/2018
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