Imperfect, incomplete, ignorant existence
in a universe where we are but grains
of life against infinity. With reverence,
we look up at the sky, hoping to gain
the knowledge of the gods. But wait—
in this world where the soul is lost
in the whirlwind of selfishness and hate,
can we ever stop being just ghosts
of an extinct perfection?
A philosophical piece in response to today’s Daily Post prompt — perfection.
Honestly, I have no idea how to answer this poem’s question. Do you?
Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!