Labirinto

Once not long ago,
I thought love sounded definite.
Punctual, filled with rules I created.
I invented the correct rythm for love.
It couldn't be off beat,
It couldn't sing off key.

Then I sung love imperfectly well.
I played it incorrectly balanced.
It brought me tears, heartache, frustration,
For I couldn't control love's harmonies.

What my mind didn't get
Was how beautiful love sounded,
Torn, wrong, or sometimes even muted.

Now love sounds like a Bach symphony from the best seat of a balcony.
It sounds like Bossa Nova in a hot summer night.
Sounds like the chords of a citar playing in my ear.
And sometimes, it's as simple as children's lullaby.


Imperfectly perfect.