Past Perfect Poem by Azachem Azachemov
Past Perfect
In his obsession with perfection
And battles to the bitter end
He always had the upper hand
Over compassion and affection
Until, against all his beliefs
His inner self committed treason -
He cried, for no apparent reason
Over a heap of fallen leaves
With muddy feet and flooded senses
He stood under a dripping sky
A perfectly imperfect guy
All of a sudden lost in tenses
*)
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5/13/2024 2:22:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
