“ Days We’d Tasted ” ~ be without end ~

I nigh recall

When but a tot,

Days mostly all

Be without end,

Thus no part plot

Then to be fed,

But chosen dishes

Hence composed

Held daily doze

Of youthful wishes…

           

Yet growing up

Had not foretold,

Days made face

Life want remould,

As child burns

To aging bold,

That soon exacts

Its weighty toll,

For growing old

Bids less recall,

Of days we’d tasted all!

“ Being Perfect ” ~ within ones imperfections ~

There’s perfection

In my intent,

And high purpose

Of objectives,

Tho often I fail reach

Dedication I so seek,

That which heighten

My pursuits

To avoid mediocrity,                                                                 

Ever poised to posture

Over looming insufficiency…

 

Thus I struggle

To construct,

Words of import

Meritorious as I must,

Apposed in a fashion

To inspire interaction,

Being perfect my resolve,

Like a more inspired fellow

May find in imperfection!