Here in Babel

If I wrote the perfect poem this week
After  musing on the style and words
The world would end and no-one else could speak

How would the voters feel if this news broke?
  Election Day would be no doubt absurd
If I wrote the perfect poem this week

From the Mail, God seems to be a freak
The journalists  by such endings  are  deterred
The world would end and no-one else could speak

What is perfection, when does  judgment cease?
Here in Babel   which tongue will declare
If  I   write   the perfect poem this week

My pen leaks, now my paper sheet is creased
Is this war or love, block eyes that glare
The world may end then no-one else can speak

As we bite the apple or the pear
We leave the milk for infants  and their tears
If I wrote the perfect poem this week
This world would end then God might  find life bleak