By Gary Avants

Peter Quill believes he is staring at what he assumes is perfection. The Sovereign leader Ayesha, though, in all her glory can easily slip in a smile meant to reduce a lower species back down to size.  She makes the Guardians of the Galaxy feels like they are five tiny specs of space flotsam invading her perfect piece of space.

The Sovereign race sparked a short series for us, called Perfect Idiots. In it we talk about the desire to be perfect but how often that can cloud or complicate life. In contrast is the word grace which none of of us deserve, but covers over so many imperfect things in our lives.

 

Golden-skinned

Bronzed and tanned?

Perfect people

In someone’s design

Were perfectly planned.

The Sovereign Race

Sit perfectly straight

Walk around the troubles

Most lesser races face,

And attempt to run the show

With a smirk of smug arrogance

Permanently  painted on a perfectly

Formed faces.

Yet,  inside the minds of

These perfect beings

Lack something that

Some lesser beings posses.

Wisdom and common sense;

Which never seems to dawn

For this superior spawn.

Honestly, they are more

Perfect Idiots,

Treating life & death

As nothing more

Than a video game

Played by immature

And pouty teens.

 

In the end they are humbled

For a time,

To see that perfection

Is a huge waste of time.

Everyone, gold skin, tree bark brown,

Or green,

Has a deep down brokenness

That the outside can see.

Maybe a little grace

Is what we all desire

To put faith, hope, and love

Back into our fire.

For life.