The World seeks its form of perfection
and it is impatient to win it.
Tucked Tummies, photoshopped faces,
Gleaming homes of space and trend.
Visual perfection is the demand and the result,
at least for the moment.
Then the moths and the rust come,
leaving behind a half-life,
to be cast out with last month's magazine.
The hurling world moves on,
in search of some new thing.
The fountain of youth only works on the young.
The old are put away in their place,
The previous celebrity is set aside,
and a new-favored beauty walks the red carpet.
"Be ye therefore perfect" was not to be accomplished
in this flashbulb way;
in order to evoke mass applause.
AS RINGS ON A TREE OUR GROWTH WILL COME.
It is in the light of the (wrinkled) eye,
In the spirit of the (humble) home,
In the breaking of the (hidden) heart.
Oh! To seek this, the Lord's incremental perfecting,
and not the transient, fading, decaying "perfection" offered by mammon.
