the dream of perfection
can come at the cost of our humanity,
of what we hold in common,
are made for, even
destined
a poem about the limitations of perfection; the ones that hold us back from releasing our fears to God and taking hold of the good things He has in store; the ones that will satisfy the places in our soul that we try and fill ourselves without realizing that any truly good and perfect work that needs to be done, HAS been done and we’re often called simply to receive, receive, receive…
this poem appears in my new book Roses in Winter