sonGs of oTher laNds

In process I failed

The needle was heated, overheated
The selection was made, overmade
The thread was chosen to be golden
Carefully crafted, yet not with care
Heavenly wonder plaugh the clouds in the air
All perfectness faded to imperfection in symmetry
No perfectness in colour too, nothing left
Feelings spurred on with a metal jab
Each seam was sewn to be each's best
And yet each's best was too consciously rubbish.

posted by jessXW @ 10:04 AM