Sunday, April 16, 2017

Looking glass

Tinged with the color of fame
By thoughts that seek to fit the frame
The focal length constantly changes
As does the entertainment

Balanced on a slippery slope
Held on by wrinkled furrows
Dividing our sight, into sweet and sour
When they go dark, there’s relief indeed

How did we come this far?
With optics clouded by dust, of lofty claims
The looking glass should never lie
Or so the mediocre believe

There is a higher vision without them
Only if tenacity sticks
Dressed up and adorned with a looking glass
Nearsightedness is what becomes

Those glasses make our eyes dead, as fossils
It’s hard to imagine the world without them
They have a purpose, stealing power
Of reason, through them we struggle to discern

The meaning of the thoughtless space in between
Unless the looking glass is put away
in the museum of the past, the telescope of intuition
Will struggle to see, through daylight enveloping our eyes