Moon Struck

Even the man in the moon,
will tell you, he has flaws
The brightest stars in the galaxies,
will confess their not perfect at all
So why do the short, desire to be tall,
the large day dream about being small
For ugly or beautiful, at some point,
that, we've all been inwardly and outwardly called
To imperfection, not a choice or election,
when void of God, there is no perfection
Just mirrored reflections, of a sun damaged self,
yet, still loved by the Creator Himself

Lord, Instruct the Moon Struck,
Mommy Dearest