The Transience of Perfection

A fleeting moment
May pass you by
In which each piece fits
Exactly.
Exquisitely arranged, by chance
Or strategically placed by some
Higher being;
Beyond our control.
Sometimes it is not visible,
But exists as an inner feeling;
A moment of solace,
A flush of inspiration.
Perfection is a privilage.
Rare and pure;
Transient beauty.
That which we ultimately seek.
Something greater than us,
And our senses,
Oh, how we long
For a glimpse of it.
The time between one blink
And the next.

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