Through the Perfect Doors

Through the Perfect Doors
I stare,
shielded by perfect walls.
Flawless, white, and sincere
a shelter to behold.
Gazing from my protected throne,
glancing upon the world below
I see every crevice,
every flaw,
and marvel at its beauty.
Living behind closed walls
allows time for contemplation.
Living in a self-made prison,
allows one to admire the imperfection.
Sometimes I wish to venture forth
past the perfect doors before me.
Sometimes I wish to fail instead
of knowing no fail or dread.
My aching heart throbs with pain,
as it sees others suffer.
How often I wish
I could be that other,
suffering pain instead of seeing it,
from behind the looking pane.