The Image Of Perfection (Sonnet)
A day of balmy, vast, blue, cloudless sky,
and I, a traveler, sitting in my car,
survey the world stretched out before my eye
with time to journey to where wishes are,
the power harnessed underneath my foot,
the highways winding anywhere I choose
to claim a dream, no matter how remote,
that springs forth from Imagination’s muse.
What destination’s worthy of my journey?
What object’s worth the effort of my quest?
Through what ideal embodiment of beauty
might I find satisfaction, and then rest?
Do such things live at all in time and space,
or reflect from some deep, interior place?