Who We Are

Imperfect
perfection
deep within the abyss of midnight
quietly
mourns the loss
of today
with dreams of anticipation
for tomorrow
yet yesterday
is all that we think of

A strange
fascination
of wonderous
memories
old and new
odd
and oxymoronic
in a sense
like the curiosity
of a single light
in the middle of the night
bright enough
yet not as bright
as what's to come
and somehow always brighter than
what once was

Life
is the long journey
of slow spontaneous steps
that culminates
in all that
was
is
and will be
new moments
so perfect
that they become who we are
imperfect

Nice poem .

" Deep but Nice "