Exile #3 (“Imperfect”)

I fell from my imperfect paradise of gold
Another age, another life in time,
Through which, as through old city streets a passer by,
I stood in awe, and deemed it all as mine

I stand before a tragedy of man
With eyes half-closed, and eyebrows clad in frost,
And my escape, it is no longer there, before my eyes
And taking shy steps back, hope not to have it lost;

I used to try to beat from my imperfect wings,
To reach imperfect heights and burn imperfect flames
Now I appear and vanish in the night
And my imperfect home embitters me in shame

My Heaven and my Hell change place at my command,
And greater fires blaze, and die, and never start,
But there, in my imperfect paradise of gold
There’s always an abode for my imperfect heart