Defect

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna

This heart bears a tune to which these hands will dance,

But this tune has no rhyme at all.

Beauty can stall in the most shriveled mind,

And ripe leaves in autumn may fall.

Love may exist in tragic tales.

And happiness can make you cry,

For where perfection settles whole,

Defect bats an eye.

May her diamond ring always shine on a table that garners none.

She, whose eyes sing tunes so sweet with a voice from which you'd run.

You, my dear, can find magic even in this life that has taken a toll,

And though this poem is bound to irk you, I'd hope it's made you whole.

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna