Cruel Perfection

Perfection stands on a distant shore,
A beacon bright, yet forever more,
It whispers lies in a silver tone,
A dream of light, forever unknown.

A word we made, to chase and crave,
Yet in its grasp, we're but a slave,
For in its heart lies bitter truth,
An endless quest, a stolen youth.

Human hands, so frail and flawed,
Reach for the stars, by hope awed,
But in each touch, in every try,
Perfection laughs, and hopes die.

For we are built on crooked bones,
A song of life with jagged tones,
No matter how we strive or bend,
The perfect path will always end.

In the mirror, reflections lie,
A cruel reminder as time goes by,
That perfection’s gleam is cold and stern,
A fireless star, for which we yearn.

So let it go, this futile chase,
Embrace the scars, the flawed grace,
For in the cracks, the light breaks through,
A truth more real, and all too true.

Perfection’s lure is sweet, yet cruel,
A hollow crown, a shallow jewel,
In imperfection, let’s find our peace,
For only then can the torment cease.