Life can never be written with the feathered pen,
I've tried, believe me time and time again,
There's always missing pieces you cant recall,
Nothing ever written has ever said it all,
Otherwise there'd be nothing left to write,
It's attempted nonetheless despite,
Cause of an urge to express through word,
Without it lost would be the world unheard,
For that part is read up on pages and lines,
As something never complete but refines,
So all the rest is easier to be understood,
Writing may not be perfect but nothing could,
It will continue to always miss perfection,
But each time that it does it's added to the complection,
Of your life and mine and everything that's been left to find,
So much never to be known within our words left behind.
©justin_ur
J