So, what then is a perfect human being,
One who is fully realized and whole,
Complete, accomplished, nothing disagreeing,
Achieving our grand species’ destined goal?
We’ve long imagined such a grand ideal
And celebrated some who’ve neared that peak,
Worshiping one whose sanctity seemed real,
Defining by his actions what we seek.
But what we’ve learned and learn again each day
Is that perfection cannot be our lot;
At best we’ll find the route and go that way,
But hope of our arriving’s best forgot.
The same goes for this sonnet, which may hope
To realize perfection—but nope.