Perfection

Is perfection after all the biggest mirage ever to be formed

Or is there a constellation of perfect things in the world

A statue in a distant museum that couldn’t be chiselled better

A poem in a brittle book that touched the apex of imagination

Or perhaps a romance saturated with all the love in the world?

Is there one, or one too many things in the world truly perfect

Or is perfection really the most impossible conquest of humankind?