THE WORD. THE SOUND. PERFECTION?

I write poems. Whether they're any good

Is not mine to say. It’s yours, my readers

I’m on a journey, a quest; I try, never rest

Looking for that word, singular or collective

That forms a sound that resonates for a brief time

Then disappears; a moment of magic, the universe 

Comes together, is in sharp clarity; reality is undeniable

The word (or words), the sound; perfection - for a moment

Then it’s gone. That is my quest, that is my goal

To find the combination into which I can pour my soul

To bring things together, celebrate being whole

For that moment I live, I strive, myself I fully give

Words spoken are sounds, sounds a form of music

The mathematics of the heavens; from which mighty

Works of music come; the symphonies by Beethoven

Written while we was going deaf. Yes, by the time he conducted

the first performance of his Ninth Symphony, 

he was completely deaf. What a spirit! To not give in

I write poems. I write every day. Testing myself

To do better, be better; seeking that word, that sound

Perfection, unobtainable, alluring; demanding my soul