Imperfect Poem Novels & Stories

after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all

A wave of pure, undiluted inspiration. This was not the structured inspiration of the New Lexicon. This was raw, untamed, and dangerously creative. It was the muse that whispers the blasphemous idea, that sketches the impossible machine, that writes the poem which breaks all the rules of meter. The wave flowed out from the garden, invisible and silent, washing over the edited worlds. On a planet where every life followed a perfect three-act structure, a painter suddenly found herself obsessively painting the same, slightly crooked apple over and over again. The Editors' algorithms flagged it as a repetitive glitch, but could not delete the profound, unsettling beauty of its imperfection.

It's been written to death. "No, June is immortal," cried Emily suddenly, a mutinous sparkle replacing the strained look in her eyes. She was not going to let Mr Carpenter have it all his own way. But Mr Carpenter had tossed June aside without reading a line of it. "'I weary of the hungry world'--what do you know of the hungry world?--you in your New Moon seclusion of old trees and old maids--but it is hungry. Ode to Winter--the seasons are a sort of disease all young poets must have, it seems--ha! 'Spring will not forget'--that's a good line--the only good line in it. H'm'm--Wanderings--

David stuttered. "Don't," I cautioned him. I felt pure heat in the palms of my hands. My blood was now running hot and I was eager to knock my cousin off the high horse my father wanted to put him on. "All this ruckus is very impolite, and as men, the two of you should be ashamed of yourselves. I was expecting this behavior from these two." My father looked over to the ladies. "Sorry to disappoint, Your Majesty," Emily said back to him and I caught the tiny smile he showed, but as quick as light, it vanished.

The sharp lines caught the morning light, making him look tall, clean-cut, and radiant. For a second, I faltered. Like the person I'd lost was standing right in front of me again.

she replied, “I can’t believe we are breaking history, a maid is marrying her boss.” “I don’t think anybody would believe that for you look nothing like a maid.” “But I was a maid.” “Was, but not anymore, you are my imperfect perfection,” he replied that she could only smile and wondered how can they be a perfection that is imperfect? Not getting her answer, she smiled more pronounced and listened to the priest, today is a very big day to her, a day she had looked forward to all her life with the man beside her. And she knew that just as his words ‘imperfect perfection’ confused her, so would their love confuse anyone who tries to ruin them.

"It took sometime, probably months for that bird to dash into the air and spread its wings with glee while soaring through the sky. But have you ever wondered why that bird never fly past the clouds. Have you ever wondered why it never crosses those silver linings up there and vanish without looking back." "I have never thought about that father until now that you have mentioned it." Okoli stopped walking and turned to Ifeme. "The bird doesn't fly beyond its reach nor does it fly above its imperfections. Every creature created by the high god is not perfect. Don't get me wrong. Some people believe that human beings were once perfect but a lot of things changed and imperfection took place but

Asshole better. Mr. Asshole mutters some incoherent words before carrying on with his lesson. After like, literally one second, Mr. Asshole sprints out of the classroom mysteriously without saying a single word. The whole class seems to be caught in some sort of trance, just everyone gaping at each other. And then all hell breaks loose. I have no idea what just happened because that was really confusing.

One moment of love at a time. Until it became this. This beautiful, chaotic, imperfect life. Theirs. Completely, utterly theirs. And neither of them would change a single thing. Not the struggles. Not the pain. Not the fear. Because all of it had led here. To this moment. This peace. This love. Perfect in all its imperfect glory. Exactly as it was meant to be. Forever. Their forever. Always.

Encouraging them to keep the faith in God and also in family. After that, it was time for me to give the speech I'd spent hours preparing. I once again climbed the pulpit and started with a poem by Chinonso Chime titled "Immortal"; Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush,