Being Perfect

I am a broken man in a broken world.

For what good is a perfect man in a perfect world?

He has not tasted hunger, and have not been overjoyed when received food.

Has not thirst and be restored at a sip of water.

He knows no sadness, no tears rolling down his cheek.

No hope for there is no need of hope.

No despair, no love for all is perfect.

There is no darkness to contrast the light.

No evil to have good.

No joy of helping another, no appreciation of what is dying.

No pain, no fear.

No experience of the joy of being in love.

For what good is a man if he is perfect and everything is nothing but perfect?

He knows no sorrow for there is none.

No hatred, no imperfections to repair, no moral values to consider.

No thoughts that tears him apart, no decisions that will impact him or any other.

No sowing, no reaping, no putting your hands in the dirt.

He has everything he needs and wants, and even that is naught because everything is perfect.

A man truly lives when he sweat tears and blood.

When he finds hope amidst hopeless times.

Salvation on the other end of the spectrum.

A man truly loves when he finds it, truly gives because others needs it.

He will mourn and wail, weeps and cries.

But he will also laugh and smile, appreciate and be grateful.

For all that is imperfect, it makes up a meaningful life.

He could die unfulfilled, but he dies and lived.

He could die striving for an unattainable goal, but he dies trying.

He could die and suffer the most horrific death, but hoped.

He enjoys the birth of his child, and feels lost when the child dies.

He could lose the battle, but died defending what he believes him.

None of that can come to pass in a perfect world.

I am a broken man in a broken world.

And there is nothing i would change of it.