You’re trying to find perfection;
But life gets no second draft.
Still, you go on thinking
You’re a failure to your craft:
You should have got it right by now,
You should know what to do;
But trying to rewrite it
Won’t make that first draft untrue.
It will be what it will be,
And still there’ll be no second draft;
So why not take a breath and read
The story as it’s meant to be, at last?
Writer In Retrospect 
Failures can be looked at as perfection too. Everything can teach us something if we let it. I love your ending… it’s hard to let go…
Love, light, and glitter
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Quite so! And I do believe life’s much better when we let it. Thanks. š
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Beautiful poem!
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Thank you!
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Bracing, Rachel, particularly the last stanzas.
Why do we obsess so over the current moment? There’s the immediacy, sure, but only animals contemplate nothing beyond that. We developed enhanced brain capacities for a reason, to allow room for aspiration.
Our lives take years, and nearly always decades, to unfold. Any moment is just that – a moment. A point. A fragment of thread within the tapestry. Layer upon layer of richly-varied texture.
You know this, Rachel, and your last few lines proudly proclaim it. Well done!
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“A fragment of thread within the tapestry;” Ah, the perfect phrase for the point! I’ve likely mentioned my obsession with fate before, yes? The concept fascinates me more than I can say, and has for as long as I can remember. It is one belief that I have never wavered from… And that’s saying something, because I have often been a wavering sort of person.
But, I think I digress. Anyway, thanks. āŗ
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Sure, Rachel, we’ve talked about Fate before. Thing is, Fate never seems able to make up its mind. For the longest time, it’s provides nothing but chilly drizzle. Then, all of a sudden, a nice run of sunshine.
Plus, there are two parts to this equation. There’s Fate, of course, but also, there’s…us. When Fate’s in a dismal mood, it enjoys picking on us, Every once in a while, though, we surprise ourselves (and most certainly, Fate) by grabbing its lapels, giving it a good shake, and announcing we’re right-sizing things.
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Ahh, but how do you know that’s not a part of Fate’s plan? Maybe, it wasn’t picking on us at all, but instead pushing us so that we’ll stand up for ourselves. Maybe, the chilly drizzle is just a shower for the soul, washing away the dryness and overwhelming heat that would build up in endless sun. Maybe, it’ll never be perfect… but it will be okay. And maybe that’s enough.
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