Reality, the blunt truth in a lying world,
the underlying dissonance in a seamless melody.
Perfection, a baseless ideal known only in fantasy,
knowledge of which exists only in dreams and imagination.
Why strive for something so unattainable?
Dreaming of perfection is an endless nightmare of failure.
Dreams are the fantasies of surrealism,
life with perfection in flawed truth.
Without reality there can be no truth,
without truth life is merely an evanescent continuity.
Repetition can placate even the most vivid memories,
with time reality will fade without their fragmented infallibility.
If love is forever, is it also the diamond in the rough?
Is destiny just a reality without love, the sand in the hourglass?
Is reality just a neutrally grey eternity of time that is forever fading?
An endless battle between love and hate? Yin and Yang?