In the silent dance of shadows and light,
We chase the whispers of a perfect dream,
Yet in each step, a gentle insight,
Reveals that all is not as it may seem.
The stars above, flawless in their glow,
Hide stories of chaos in their gleam,
For even in the heavens, who would know,
Perfection’s just a fleeting, fragile beam.
In nature’s breath, the wild winds sing,
Of broken branches and imperfect grace,
Yet beauty blooms in each living thing,
Embracing flaws in its rightful place.
So let us find in life’s gentle prose,
The art of imperfect, unpolished rhyme,
For in every crack where the wild rose grows,
Lies the true perfection of time.