After capital Nature got a drubbing,
I am face to shape with perfection
Guided by the mirror: optimal reflection.
Of course the overdoing needs scrubbing,
But where does life go if there is no
Way to choose where to get?
The opposite of ideal might be awful.
A deeply unhappy horse as compared to;
It seems to be more of a shape and characteristic
Thing, rather than a feeling notion,
Yet again, how did it become the idyll
For the landscape in question
To be pastoral, a red barn,
It's not what is natural, that was demolished.
So perhaps we are left with testably better.
Shh, science, in verse, there must be a look,
To see if the papers and experiments
Have shown; what; exactly; stuck once more.
The opposite of ideal is reality.
It turns out,
For time and space and circumstance
Conspire against the deified
Defiling that which would be seen
As the best it could be.
So being stuck with preference
Muddied with unconscious who knows what
And aesthetic, taste, smell, disgust, pleasure,
I will look to the first letter
And see what I see.
Roman Ryan 