Mirage

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Gleaming in the night
How can this exist without
The reflection of the blazing sun,
causing trickery on our eyes?
Could it be that I have forgotten
what the road looks like, and this new watery pool
Lies before me
Is this my new world?
How can I know that black is black,
A violin sounds rough and sweet?
What is sweetness?
It may be the utmost wretched noise to another.
This is perspective.
I see a blank sheet of paper.
I see a girl walking on the pier, laughing.
They may see frustration in opening their minds,
Pouring the magnificent capacity of their minds
On to this simple, white sheet.
Tabula rasa, one may call it.
A blank slate is innocence
Who knows that innocence to me,
is innocence to you?
Why else would people have opinions?
We’re all human; we all have the same senses.
What divides us is outlook, which differs from person to person.

I see blue
You see orange
We both call it green.





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