If the price for a holding a rose

Wasn’t the thorn in my flesh,

And the aftermath of sunsets

Utter darkness


If lightning didn’t illuminate

For just a split second,

Then that would be perfect,

And of that I’d be fond.


If beauties weren’t beasts

Hiding underneath,

And princes, just frogs

Waiting for the moment to leap


If knights in shining armours

Weren’t pure fiction

It would be perfect,

And a damsel would have one.


If sheep weren’t clothes for wolves,

They all being dead;

And beautiful chariots,

Just pumpkins instead;


If fairy godmothers

Turned mice into men,

Perfect, it would be,

I’d hope to see it, but when?


But nothing is perfect

At least, not for me;

For my beautiful moments

Turn out to be dreams.


At the end of my rainbow

Is no pot of gold;

Neither at the end of my struggles,

Riches untold.


Whether I’ll see perfection,

I do not know.

In my morbid existence

I frequently mope;


Or maybe, I’m just like a bat,

Blind as can be;

For perfect,

I never did, and still cannot, see.

Copyright © 2019 Larisa McBean

Image Credit: Cambion Art

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.