Is there such a thing as perfect?
If not why is it there?
What could be perfect today, suddenly flawed tomorrow

Looking up at the sky, what a perfect view
Now that it's raining I can't seem to see you

Clouds, little pillows of milky white
Paint the sky's canvas but restarts everyday
Perfect sometimes? No such thing as perfect they say

Like your first love and first time
Perfection seems so simple
Within reach, visual view

Is perfect a myth or even a plot?
To keep us going, to make us distraught?
Perfect is never perfect even in it's own sense...