The Perfect Poem

My life is and will be spent hunting the perfect words that will stand—even run—on their own, no introduction necessary these words will relate not offend they will share an alternate reality colored by emotions of epiphanies and breakups rational fears and early mornings even egos and wild geese they will show what other poems merely tell, their words will be coated with honey and meaning because the perfect poem is no cliché or over-the-counter medication with unlimited side effects to your free refills. The perfect poem is a mythical creature, seen by few and only then a well-constructed hallucination because as you put pen to paper (or stylus to tablet) your mind fills to the brim with unwritten words rearranging themselves into miscellaneous phrases that may not make sense to anyone but you. But the perfect poem is the canvas you brew the beauty of words upon. It is at once true and flawed, the lone ray of sunlight guiding you through the forest of your mind.