The Idea Of Perfection Poem by Sonny Rainshine

The day finally came.
The island was part
of a sheltered archipelago
off the coast of Greece,
secluded, renowned
for its serene beauty.

Years,
years! of planning
and doing-without,
poring over maps
until his eyes stung,
combing the ads,
reading travel books and logs,
consulting the best travel agencies
and eureka! his painstaking
research paid off.

He booked the perfect flight,
first class,
the perfect hotel,
four-star,
and purchased the perfect
travel clothes,
white linen suits
and a panama hat.

It was the very first day
of his stay on the island that
he admitted he had made
a grave miscalculation.
Lying on the perfect beach,
on perfect sand,
in a perfect beach chair,
to the background of ocean waves
a perfect blue;
looking up into a Grecian
sun that could not be more
exquisite, sea birds that
performed pristine gymastics
in a cloudless sky,
he suddenly felt a darkness
descend, a sadness deeper
than he imagined sadness could ever be.

For he had both lost and found something
there in paradise:
By fulfilling his dream,
his fantasy,
he had annihilated it;
and in its place a profound
emptiness filled the void,
descending and deepening
as the perfect sun
sank into a perfect sea,
and night approached.