I care not for rouge-stained operas that falter at twilight's edge,
Nor do I crave symphonies that fray where codas should converge.
These grandiose overtures, though drenched in chromatic fire,
Still stumble toward hasty exits through ink-smeared pyres.
Such unvarnished flaws mirror creation's fractured design -
Behold how the moon dissolves in mist's silver confine,
While irises melt into earth where root and rot entwine.
All that breathes bears cracks where starlight leaks through divine.
Who claims eternity perched on jade clouds' fleeting throne?
Three layers deep our marrow-carved regrets have grown.
Perhaps this truth flows through the sage's weathered scrolls half-shown:
"Life's minor fullness outshines flawless plans carved in stone."