Perfect Imperfection

Faded Glory

I’m really rather fond of imperfection,
Rusty stuff and things beyond their prime,
Stuff that’s gone way past the point of perfect
Showing evidence of life and use and time.

That flake of rust, that curled up, drying petal,
That wrinkled face, that figure past it’s best,
That dog with the soft eye and greying muzzle,
All of them pass the ‘been around here’ test.

There’s charm and history within a ruin,
The antique dresser’s dents all testify
To lives and loves well lived within its lifespan,
Beneath the old cracked mirror’s seeing eye.

Perfection is a mite intimidating,
An aspiration very few achieve,
That leaves us with an awful sense of failure,
Perfection’s quite destructive I believe.

So let’s stop striving to achieve perfection,
And make imperfect quite respectable,
Lets celebrate the worn out and the damaged,
That way we’ll make the norm acceptable.