Mistakes are what bind us,
to be the mass of what's greater than ourselves.
It formulates a path in which we cannot see of ourselves.
Is it a generic code that stimulates us?
A robotic heart that breathes us?
Is the spawn of our birth a mystical tale
that fate has conspired up?
Mistakes are what shelter us
from the outer perspirations of the world;
-a drip of sweat
-a cold pouring
-or a red stain aligning the walk;
the walk of which we travel
from dawn to dusk.
Mistakes are what battle us
push us to a volume that ears cannot withstand.
A hymn of lyrics that have no music
A vulture's call upon its prey
A baby struggling for air
Mistakes are our guidance
a book full of wisdoms and road signs,
that we have no will to follow.
We lead and we conquer
what has already been done for us
We don't see that mistakes are what make us
-an individual in the deck of cards
-a leftover token in a game slot
-a piece of gum below a foot,
that has no choice but to follow
Mistakes are apart of us
no greater and no smaller
than any part of a whole
No puzzle, no challenge
but a task as to a treasure of gold
A mission, a discovery
a fallen leaf that hasn't touched home
We don't see the honour in what our mistakes bring us
We don't see the value in what our mistakes make us
We don't see the meaning of what stabilizes us
-as a whole and not a fraction
Mistakes are what grant us
a dream that we didn't have to sleep to find.
An answer that didn't even accompany a question.
Thoust a piece of art we have.