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Looking Through Lenses
People always say to look at things
From a fresh and new perspective
Yet remembering an example never rings
A bell for the introspective.
The closest I have come to doing so
Was one morning, before I wore my glasses
Everything was blurred to and fro
That’s when I really saw the masses.
A crowd of people, a sea of blank faces
Wearing the same clothes, same hair
Of an individual, there were no traces
Nothing like a group can cause such a scare.
A pounding soon ensues, pushing me
To obey and, with dullness, become one
Of those silent, no longer free
It was a battle yet to be won.
It was hard to not look with scorn
At those people, and feel like a gem
Ever refusing to be worn
Soon, I had become one of them.
Realizing this, I could take it no longer
And so denied that feeling evermore
The feeling I had felt made me stronger
Only made me cold to the core.
The change is comparable to wearing lenses
After being blind for a lifetime
As soon as I had regained my senses
I wished to atone for my crime.
The lines are sharp, clear, distinct
Every fleck is duly seen
The happiness, I once thought extinct
Gave everything the look of a dream.
I now see every bit of this place
And feel more confused for it still
But, though it may not seem the case
The mystery provides the biggest thrill.