Elation reduced to expectation
Achievement relegated to completion
Nothing is ever finished, and it's all over
Anything less than ultimate
Seen as cause to abacinate
Perfection imposed
as an ultimatum
at the minimum
And everything is less
and less is made more
until it's all the same
all just a game
with no middle ground
and nowhere else to stand
Reality refuses the facade
as myth becomes tragedy
though tragedy's restricted
and guilt can't be convicted
all are made prisoners acquitted
confined by what's remitted
The truth is great and rare
and all that's great is rare
And perfection is an abstract
which none may ever contact
And failure's not alright
but can be seen in light
in light that still shines through
in the mediocre things we do
on the way to something new
But the spectrum in-between
is more than just the mean
The vastness of it all
can dizzily cause a fall
though some will still stand tall
The abacination fascination
that plaques much of creation
where blinded eyes have vision
and exalt their own derision
This blackened form of sight
that knows no day nor night
but sleeps while still awake
not accepting all it will take
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