Every website, shining and sleek,
must hold a flaw—a crack, a streak.
A broken page, where chaos lies,
a quiet hymn to humble skies.

Perfection blinds, a golden cage,
pride’s illusions writ on the stage.
But let one link fail, one button freeze,
and you’ll hear life’s whispered pleas.

For in the glitch, a tale unfolds,
of truths too raw, of hearts too bold.
Imperfection—life’s tender bruise,
a sacred scar we didn’t choose.

This broken page, this silent cry,
takes pain and grief we can’t deny.
It bends beneath the weight of blame,
absorbing shame, extinguishing flame.

Victory’s found not in flawless design,
but in cracks where courage aligns.
To err, to stumble, to fail, to fall—
these are the wounds that heal us all.

So let the 404 stand tall and proud,
a shrine to flaws beneath the cloud.
For every soul, and every space,
finds beauty in its broken place.