January 26, 2009
By DalekXan BRONZE, Bronx, New York
DalekXan BRONZE, Bronx, New York
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Some seem to see the spectrum
Primarily, in primary,
Red, yellow, blue, maybe white too,
Their eyesight wrecked from
Their bright, square sight,
Seeing light, quite frankly, not quite right,
Their browns and blacks and beiges blurry,
Their lilacs and lemons rarely turn them on,
No pain or pleasure in subtlety,
The pastel world’s not for me,
So they say through a mouthful of carbs,
Wisdom is too hard.

Then, too, others view you,
In only black and white.
The beauty gone from all that’s bright,
So they live in everlasting night,
Majestic trees are beasts’ hands and knees.
Things thump and bump, but never
Do they dance.
No glory in our blue planet
When it’s rainy and grainy and gray,
When a redbird’s song has gone wrong,
Become angry rants.
These are cave dwellers,
Cynical and skeptical about the morning world,
Indifferent to the rainbows of an opal or a pearl.

The lucky few are not askew,
Who see things as they should, and would,
If not for those bent on ill,
Listen to them, and soon you will
Go blind.
Those who see in 3D,
Who enjoy cyan,
Because they can,
Who love indigo
And neon glow,
Their eyes unlock
A full Crayola box
Without a dent!
Of pigment.
Organic shapes, purple grapes,
And fractals, and pterodactyls,
Waiting to be drawn and colored in.

Sometimes I see the simple way,
Childishly throwing away
The secondary, tertiary,
Of this state I must be wary.
Or I dwell in optical gloom,
With you’re-so-stupids, a go-to-your-room,
When I can’t bear the stupidity,
Of all the fools surrounding me.
When I see the rainbow right,
I’m happy, jolly, free of spite,
But those times are rare.

I am the universe,
Dark and isolated, worse,
The distance to the distant stars,
Incalculable wherever you are,
But when I see in infrared,
In bee’s purple, in gamma rays,
I think instead,
I’m glad I’m not dead,
This is being more,
This is worth living, worth seeing for.

The author's comments:
When I wrote the poem, I was thinking about how sometimes I feel so lonely -- almost as though I see things a completely different way. I thought about how so many people I know -- the annoying ones, mostly, the bullies -- don't seem to "see" very clearly. I thought the idea that people literally might not see the world in the same colors was very poetic. When I wrote the final verse, I was really talking about how my isolation was only worth it when it helps me see the beauty and horror of the world as it truly is.

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