I fire with velocity and an undying vigour, to achieve the most as a little bird completes one twitter
Perfection is the goal, perfection is of essence, nothing on earth can cause me to even slightly dither
From that goal I hope to achieve, a nirvana, a salvation that I presume is closeby, but seems to flicker
I live in the illusion that I’m evading the darkness and approaching the light, of which I see a mere sliver
It only dawns on me when I’m weary of the rigour, that nothing is perfect and perfect is nothing
I’ve spent my life aiming for a thing that was nothing but an illusory trigger which was utterly baffling
Is it discontent with myself or discontent with others that sets me off, most redundantly bolting
Less than perfect just won’t be good enough, and ordinary just doesn’t feel that great or flattering
Insecure and unsteady stands my foundation on a bunch of wobbly stilts, shaking nervously at every hit
What could I have done wrong when all I aimed for was perfection, how could I be so wrongly tricked
I ponder the same and curl up in the fear that I still don’t lack the predisposition to fail and be a twit
Happier were the times, when winning was not of any major concern and nothing was a definite writ
Realization comes knocking at my door, opening my eyes to a reality that I thought I could elude
Life is fast enough, so we better stay calm in order to be blissful, and it doesn’t help being a prude
There is fulfillment in the little things we do for others and a nice cup of coffee that is brewed
If we learn to see the positives in the negatives and the light in the darkness, there’s no need to brood
