A hint of perfection,
another bitter-sweet lesson
in not enough, not quite,
so close but never right,
and the light within
grows dim.
Always reaching,
seeking greatness,
even a taste of heaven
far beyond
but tethered.
Success? Never.
Held back
by lack of slack
in this collar and leash.
Watching others leap and bound away,
but stuck.
Try as you may,
the worst of luck
sentences you to stay
here in the in-between,
unknown and unseen.
A hint of perfection.
Reaching out to mess with it.
Tangled, knots and all,
trying to tame the wild,
ruffled like the hair of a child,
a tightly wound ball
of braids and ramblings.
It's not much,
but it's all
you have
to salve
the cuts.
YOU ARE READING
Every Last Drop
Poetryfor hard times. for the lonely late nights. and the tears we cry. every last drop. * all rights reserved
