Black Silhouette
 

Curiously; neatly abandoned
Sense is not what it’s about
Begging its existence even landed
Advised without any doubt
It’s truth, so closely stranded.

Figure of imagination it seems
Throwing away its morals
Reluctantly following by means
Of possible ways as it laurels
Guilt, nigh; many are just dreams.

None of this is real, not yet
One look and that can change
Perfection is a black silhouette,
Gracefully, in turn, prearranged
This known, it may upset

How one will start to perceive
In one respect the human mind
Will easily be fooled, start to believe
Be too indulged, become confined
Inside, trapped, perhaps naive?

There is an odd, strange opinion
Undoubtedly doomed to appear
Amongst an unstable dark dominion
Please, choose not to adhere
To such shallow, fake perfection.

this is extremely beautiful...I love the rhyme scheme.