Ideal

Trapped in her shadow

the memory of her etched painfully

into my ossifying mind

the form of her encased rigidly

within emotions of years past

the image of her a marble study

of perfection in an imperfect world

the sound of her voice frozen

echoing from northern heights

She is captured in the clouds

lounging rigid on the pedestal

built of her ideal

She has descended

her laughter usurping the northern cold

with a breeze of southern thaw

broken free of the clouds

her living image

tainting that marble most pure

with a myriad cracks

beneath which shine authentic gold

her form in flux

by years and experience changed

emotions not calcified but ever burning

her chiming voice

shattering the preserved memory

and budding new ones

She is a living present

a storm of disorder and change

growing from her agency

Ideals are a trap of stasis

built for comfort and safety

Living reality, though chaotic

is perfect for its imperfection