Could you in that dense mind of yours
Have ever dreamed a world so great
So filled with beauty and passions
(And despair and hate you love to add)

No, I think you’ll find with every smooth pebble
There are a hundred more waiting for
Such perfection as you wish to present
But you don’t get all my analogies

I forget sometimes, you’re all numbers and logic
And yet such an idealist, perfection
You constantly speak of it and yet
How can you be so sure such a thing exists?

I’ve certainly not bought into it quite yet
I pine and scratch and scrawl my way towards
A shining light, a point of no existence
This I think is what you like to call perfection

Surely it is exists in name, in idea, but in reality?
It seems to be a madman’s perusal to chase wildly
Hair flying, arms outstretched trying to catch perfection
But its not the destination but the running there

What little I care about the end point
When along the way I see all, know all
Staring straight in the mirror, I see it
My flaws — such beauty from within 

It’s funny, looking back (ironic, really)
But that at one point I was just like you
Young, logical, ambitious and idealistic
I still am, but let’s call me a creative twist. 


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