Perfectly Imperfect
Try as thou might, thou falleth.
Try all he will, he falleth short,
Try as she could, there in is something lacking at the end,
This is us, perfectly imperfect.
Every man hath flaws, we defect,
Away from the ideal and precise,
We are who we are,
Though, fear not beloveth,
For wherewith we abide in imperfections and without innocence, he loves us as we are.
The Father sees thy shortcomings, yet careth for thou and Man in his entirety.
Strive as much as the soul alloweth, ye falter and stumble,
Even machinations of man are not without rust and wear,
And thou art better than any invention that cometh forth of man,
Thou be the beloved of God,
Not machinations without heart and mind,
But living and of flesh, thus we beareth room for flaw.
Thus we are as man, perfectly imperfect,
Falling short of The Spirit,
But called by him onto glory,
Your travails, ye needeth feel sorry,
Come to him that is ruler of the spirits, whom brought the world to life,
There in is your peace,
And there in ye shall find perfection that thou seekest.
