Like I've slept that dream,
The moon was dark and it was a Good Friday's scheme.
The nocturnals was at its lowest pitch,
But still hertzing the eardrums by cries of hopes and dreams.
The cries of which who suffered most.
The need of hugs and kisses that were fulled by dose.
The heart that bravely unwanted to shed tears,
Though there was the firework... it sores... thus, burnt out.
The moment was perfect,
As the thought was settled.
We expected not to fail,
But it was judged by failures.
Then you got your perfect 'you'.
Though they prefer the worst of 'you'.
You are thinking positively about life.
They are thinking the darker shed of your shadow.
You are doing what is perfect.
That supposed to be perfect.
The time, the season, the flaws are perfect.
Though, they still see your devils.
Thought of perfect was nothing to do with them,
You don't hurt others unless....
You've sinned to them.
"I am not perfect."
The thought you concluded.
"I've been fixing the colors of erubix cube, and then mixed it up again."
This was perfect, but I am not.
I am one who made it not!
They see the white flags I wanted to raise.
They see...
Imperfections.
And not the perfections.
They want the best,
Because it can be less.
They want your darkest shadow,
For you to stand with light.
They don't want the thought perfect.
They just want to see 'you',
With your best.
With failures,
That mixed up, messed up, but, fixed it out.
Then you let them see on your worst,
Until you've realized they got you stand in the light.
