Perception of Perfection

Someone important once stated,
Idealism to its highest degree,
Becomes an art of perfection.
Such skill and excellence, such proficiency.

Should this supremacy become a goal?
This very sense of fulfillment,
Does it then consume one’s soul?
Is this idealistically being independent?

But can a person actually live perfection?
Can a person even really define it?
Is there allowed to be an exception?
Truly just how perfect can one get?

If lived, is perfection ever happy?
Does its seriousness allow for laughter?
Does it discern love as sappy?
Could its sublimity be one’s happy ever after?

Does it relay a message of “meant to be”?
Does it condone the concept of fate?
Could perfection set us free?
Did it empower the right to segregate?

Can anyone answer these things I ponder?
Has one ever reached its distinctiveness?
Or will it forever be for all to wonder?
Will it stay a perception of exactness?