While the mirror may disregard
the image held in the heart
others are the paragons
of existence beyond this one
there is the irony few deny
the measure of the other side
now beholden as a god
while theowner falls far short
each has a portion of the grail
perfection granted on the small scale
though some are bless with much more
even these know pure scorn
if we don't deserve the grass
growing on the other side
the past is seen in contrast
to the present none desire
if only bodies could be switched
one for another in fair trade
those outer shells that walk about
taunting owners with their shroud
the exchange comes with a price
those natal quirks that may surprise
still the maladies are put aside
with sanity as the main prize
don't laugh at the mortal fools
it is their lot to be confused
when the shell game of the gods
becomes the mold in aftermath
the mirrors state an honest truth
while devils laugh as if amused
because perfection lays beyond
in curses of the jealous mind.
© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20190429.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem