A postmodernism sonnet

I blow a bubble from a plastic wand 
And watch it float and shimmer in the air 
A perfect sphere of soap and water, and 
A fleeting glimpse of rainbow colors there 

I marvel at its delicate design How thin the film that holds the shape and light 
How quickly it can pop or drift or shine 
How fragile is its beauty and its flight 

But then I wonder if it's really real 
Or just a simulation of my mind 
A metaphor for something I can't feel 
A sign of something hidden I must find 

Perhaps the bubble is a paradox 
A symbol of both freedom and the box

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