Saturday, 19 September 2015

Holding Hands

Around the tremendous subterfuge
Offered by my faithful glass,
I imagined a life that had witnessed
The subtraction of
Familial obligations, moral inclinations,
And salary-slips,
And found myself failing miserably
At the seductive hands of inebriation.

My eyes scanned the circumference
Of my soon-to-be-empty vessel,
While the voice of reason screamed
An angry complaint into ears that blushed
With the flame of heated blood-
Perfection is found rarely in reality,
Much like unicorns or effortless success,
But happiness abounds in plentiful
When your imperfections are concurrent
With another,
And he loves you for these,
For the times when you speak
Of the sun and the earth,
And everything in between,
And when you dream in unison
Of ruling an empire that you wish to build
With bricks, blood and love
As you fit into one another
Like a blanket to a cold winter morning
And smile at the world,
In your imperfect glory.

No comments:

Post a Comment