Perfect
Look at all the perfect people,
Standing silent row on row,
A mute charade of love and hate,
Unspoken mockery of life’s hidden heart,
Drear and shabby we stand ashamed,
Quiet and alone all the world should hate,
Something so plain so strange so ugly,
We stand alone and unfit beside such grace,
What have we that they haven’t more?
How can we mask this plain ugly soul?
Who would think we yearn for a butterfly smile?
Why should dead hearts beat in lonely silence?
All the beautiful people shine,
Faces to the sun glow with fragile petals,
Shiver like diamonds of glass and ice,
Perfect they shatter out of moon’s light,
Stained and flawed our shattered pieces lay,
Like the leftover clays of creation,
Un-used unwanted shards stripped from Perfection,
And hid where eyes may never touch our shame,
What can we use to light our dark paths?
How do we yet live when all will has fled?
Who could ever love this barren twisted soul?
Why should dead hearts beat in this lonely silence?
Dead hearts,
Silent Souls,
And withered rose petals,
Dead eyes,
Silent lies,
And shredded butterfly wings.
~AW~