Portrait of a perfect World
It was a matter of time, a measure of space, a final write up of the conditions and purpose of the human race. A summary of the constant struggle to get ahead. Of progress and success and of the failure it bred. Of the words, actions and deeds that created the mess. A final … something… that marred our success. It went and swept the whole shambles aside. And left a new perfect space where no one could hide. Yet in the perfection we found, much to our surprise, that all our hopes and dreams died.
Cause in the shattered World we lost people could still see the things that still gleamed, in among the muck, and the hurt, the wars and misdeeds. There was hope, and a kiss, and other things I concede. There were the temporary things that make us smile for a while during which time passes and then we pass into denial. Hoping for tomorrow we instead find only yesterday as we cling and we claw and we grasp anything we can along the way. Oh how we forge a strong grip during the spiral parade. As we sink and for moments swim in the shallow glade. It’s a wonderful World, its true; this I can say. For in strive and conflict hope springs again.
If the World were perfect we would not find a way to hope and dream of a better today.
An expert in nothing in particular