Complexity.
Is it perfection?
Could perfection be the flame,
the bright bursting flame,
of a mape tree in autumn?
Leaves swirling,
red orange gold,
in infinite complexity of its own design?
Maybe a grand orchestra
a hundred strong,
with sounds and instruments of all imaginings,
orderly chaos at its finest?
Could Perfection be a feild,
flourishing in both flora and fauna,
everything differentiating,
each living thing more spectacular than the the last?
A flock of songbirds,
each singing its own,
filling the trees withe their calls?
Or maybe,
just maybe
Perfection can be found
in a lone golden maple leaf
dancing in the wind,
or as the single soaring note of a violin,
ringing clear and true.
As a single vivid poppy,
or a sparrows call at dawn.
Maybe Perfection is not complexity at all,
but something else.
Something different.
Simplicity.
Submitted: January 04, 2021
© Copyright 2021 1b1255e5. All rights reserved.
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