Borderline Masterpiece

Borderline masterpiece, it's all it will ever be

If only I could ever let a piece just be

without worrying and fretting about minor details

insignificances and ridiculous indiscretions

that no one, apart from me will ever really notice

Chip and chip and chip away, chisel it down each day

until it is just right, or a shadow of its former might

-

Borderline masterpiece, all it will e'er be

if only I could e'er let a piece just be

without worrying, fretting about minor details

insignificances, ridiculous indiscretions

no one apart from me will ever notice

chip and chip away, chisel it down each day

until it's just right, a shadow of its former might

=

borderline, all it will be

If I could let a piece just be

without worrying about minor

insignificances, indiscretions

no one will ever notice

chip, chisel it down each day

until it's just a shadow

-

borderline

could a piece be

without worrying

insignificances

no one notices

chip and chisel

just a shadow

-

Borderline masterpiece, it's all it will ever be, unless I let my mind unlock the gates to the refactories and hidden studies of the inner workings of what it takes, all it takes to be a man, a modern man, with older standards for dignity interlocked with forward thinking approaches to understanding and empathy

If only I could ever let a piece just be, unless I let it be all it really needs to, wants to be - there is no limit or restriction, surely? there should be no limit or restriction of a man's sperlunking into the depths of his psyche

without worrying and fretting about minor details, the imperfections that make us human, the indignities that make us feel alive and of honest living

insignificances and ridiculous indiscretions, the ones we remember late at night when we can't quite sleep as much as we'd like, when the light is on inside our mind and the play needs to be performed in our mind's eye

that no one, apart from me will ever really notice, unless I let it all go and bleed it proudly on the page, for all to read, for all to take a microscope and analyse the lines, phrases, words, flow and form

Chip and chip and chip away, chisel it down each day, why would I when I have so much to say, every single day. When did the joy of brevity overshadow the joy of verbosity?

until it is just right, or a shadow of its former might, a shadow of what it could be, if I had just stopped myself in my tracks before I extinguished the fires that longed to burn brightly, before I exorcised the demons before they were exposed to the hot white light.

Author's Notes: The image for this poem is a painting by Edouard Manet that was considered rushed, unfinished or just not as good as many of his others from the same period, at the time. Now it is considered a classic. I wanted to show the theme of the poem, that there is a fine balance between editing and editing and just letting your words speak.