Poem: Life, Still

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Life, Still. 

I weep for the still life people,
so perfect, everything in place,
no insanity in the picture,
never overtaken by madness

or passion, a life suitable for Rockwell,
picturesque and composed,
a study in calmness.

Give me the wildness, an expected landscape
full of beautiful struggle, changing seas,
wild love, poetry and strange music.
Give me lightning and shape shifting skies.

Soft tender sighs, and cries of passion.
Give me an imperfect life, real and raw,
improvisation that defies gravity

and laughs at perfection from dawn to dusk
and deep into the night, while tamer souls sleep.

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