Perfection? In an imperfect world?

Lost myself looking around for the quality people love, Perfection, it is called harder to find the Blue eyes ground dove. Standing here,feeling lost seems like there is nothing I could do, After all, it is I, who dragged myself too hard to become grey and blue. I ,who grew you a flower that can't be bloomed,in a dream that can't come true. I danced in the rain, though the tears of my loss were in vain, under skies of blue. Late was I to know the truth, the world forever has been a liar so smooth. The caliber I sought, a distant thought, beyond my grasps stare, The perfection I pursued, forever eluded leaving me in despair. Alas! this word tattered my beautiful soul, Lastly, I stand alone with nothing but my inner turmoil and my shattered soul...........to console.