Half a moon shimmers in the middle of the lake
The midnight’s wind will remind of whose loneliness
Drink left half-finished
Words left half-spoken
Forgotten at a cafe half way down the street
Waiting for the half-awake barista to make things neat
Band still half-formed
Song still half-sung
Forgotten under a half-functioning streetlamp
Waiting for half a decibel of an audience’s clap
Half is a process
Could perhaps be left incomplete
is truly man’s conception of completeness
Half of a thing
Has beauty in its imperfection
Half a moon still shimmers bright and full
Alone a midnight but never lonely
Half-full or half-empty? We’d always ask.
It seems that “half”has always a missing side to it.
I beg to differ.
There is beauty in things that seem incomplete, lacking, or inadequate.
There is nothing wrong being that, for there is still innate beauty
in the spots that one can’t fill, or one has yet to fill.