Imperfectly Realised (Poetry)

Everything here is imperfectly realised
left abandoned
like chores only partly done before
impatience plagues me to move on
and leave these notes as thin reminders —
the skeletons of ideas
which in more diligent less fickle hands
might have achieved some polish and so likely find
their true potential.

Instead they sit a little awkward in their rows
these self-conscious strings of words unsmoothed
and too often lacking discipline.
If they were a choir they’d sing off key
but now and then one purer voice soars clear
finds perfect pitch
almost accidentally — but
it happens much too rarely — just a fleeting glimpse
of what may be possible.