Botch

Fragility is divine,
As the infallible,
The unyielding,
The might in constructs
Of permanence never shifts.

Ripples and quakes
Score between the pebbled collage
Of mortal, erring ways,
To where new grooves and lines
in motion, fresh,
Merge to crack,
Shape the cheeks of those things
Which bend to shatter
In sorrow.

While those subjects of no limits,
Those towers and tall standing rocks
Chastising change,
Refute all vibrations
Of pain, refuse sad differing pulls.
Involving in no humors of
Curious novelties
Or damages,
They watch erect,
Gloating in wordless pose.

We envy their stance,
We that break,
Ever and ever from budging.
Their bases bury to steeled soil,
Where no fears crawl,
No bad blooms, nay
Ever lives to tarnish and tear.
To us, they are the right:
Always their Forever
Plants our strengths until our
Goals are cropped from pods.
They are impenetrable,
We that break know.

For to morph the things
Never needing repair
Is a space few think of,
Nay need enter.
I have been at their bottoms
To try my fix,
Holding nothing back from their hides.
But somehow still
I botch them up.