We are all human beings.
Not perfect.
No one yet to be born,
Has done this to say...
"Hey, take a look at me.
My birth occurred free of blemishes."
Although heard both from the right and left,
More are expected to accept...
Those selected with obvious imperfections.
Both physically and mentally.
To qualify a deluded image to project.
Whether it be on TV screens.
Magazines.
Or advertised to promote a commodity.
As long as that image continues to delude.
And is captured by cameras,
What it is some people...
Have become accustomed to love.
An image of a likeness so familiar.
So much so,
They've been taught to perceive,
Glowing flaws to be impeccable.
And sold they are to excuse,
Any detectable incompetence to ignore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem