The Aristocrats

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Our flawed brains ordain us as elegant beings
Synapses misfiring, like broken shooting stars
Our wholeness ebbing and flowing like the tides at sunset
A graceful dance between what is and what should be
Gliding in our minds haunted hallways
Misfortune named disease whispers our name
It can bring us to our knees, begging for sweet mercy
Somehow, its careless cruelty is deafening to the irrelevant
So we are always sure to carry ourselves as sovereignty
Dignity is our gift and your curse
We are not well, a truth
Only a slight tear in our universe separates us from orderly
We are like well-oiled doors that develop a sudden squeak
Or a clock that suddenly stops keeping perfect time
A slight stumble, unasked for value lost, but not useless
Like the tired hands of an elderly person
Beautiful with their impurities, sacred from their story
Still blessed with a painful but triumphant epoch
The majesty comes from the struggle
For who else can carry this burden than the bent?
Average we will never know
For our hearts beat in time with the Unknown

Daily Prompt: Elegance

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