Rebuttal

We, who love words,
love less, our fellowman.

Strive harder to find a rhyme
a verse,
a structure on which to hang our pained expression
and knowledge gained through heartbreak
and years of ache, and toil…

How harshly then, do we judge those who,
like ourselves
seek only to bind themselves to something meaningful—

To shed some unwanted experience,
some unrealized dream, or unrequited love…

We are all glaringly imperfect;
Our imperfections, exposed, by how we reveal ourselves
through our opinions of others.

He, like you, is trying.

He shares a similar doubt,
displays a similar arrogance.

What we dislike in others, is what we truly despise in ourselves.
Let us look not then, upon the stain of imperfection,
But upon the worthiness of the effort;
Knowing well that,
Although he may not have arrived,
He has begun the journey, and has explored some interesting vistas.

He has reached deep in his heart and found something of value
to share with the unforgiving world.

He has added to our lives,
and has not taken from it.

In this, he has shown us the greatness of goodness:
That the hurt know how to love despite the hurting,
That the imperfect have an appreciation for perfection,
And that a poet who appears to write only for himself,
can elicit some powerful emotions and reveal our hidden prejudices.