But if you looked inside my head,
you would not find the passion of red.
but the calm of blues and greens,
like that of rain and trees.

Yes if you gazed into my soul,
you'd see as rain on my window,
the picture is wholly upside-down,
compressed and bent, refracted around.

It does not reflect (as a puddle might)
the darkness here that we call light,
instead there is somehow a spark
I know it not but it isn't dark,

but true light, as i have found,
does not in our world abound.
It is foreign to our dear cosmos,
we don't understand it, not even almost.

and here i finally contend,
that though compressed, refracted, and bent,
I possess in me a spark divine,
it was not and should not be, but is still mine.