The world can be viewed in so many ways, for all that what it is, is not what others would think when it comes compare to one another. To at least for humor, there come three visions of the globe, its life it holds, the pros and cons of it all.
In few views, it’s an unclear what is there to look at. No focus of an anything, for it blends. Becoming deformed into one being where lightness and darkness are unsure where to go and be blinding to one’s eyes.
To that it comes as looking through a telescope, far in zoom; an insect is a giant to some and a person a speck on the wall. A few turns left to right, the sizes changed, but for the best or worst, is another game to play of revolutionizes.
But, for again, that is only one glance through the looking glass of the three marbles of the full of life, tiny globe humans and animals call home.
The next vision, those of clear thinkers that see what the world is and it has to hold. What is there in the glass is a fact as any other, staring back, just as cold and dead, for there is no need for outside thinking here.
A mirror only coming the moves another, mocking but honestly telling; a tall fable that lasts forever, but ends just as quickly.
All shades form in the right order, giving clear look at what is there, a room; a study to learn and grow, but bland with colors of life all around in blacks, grays, and white shades, with only one soul; who thinks beyond what the mind can do, as in time using only his hands to tell his tale, for ears to listen come short and unwitting to his anomalous allegories.
A stony face that man wears, with knowing pride or not, does not matter, as his story is told, the matters of the aftermath, rely only on those who listen, and to pass it on or not.
Which soon, as the first world is shown unclear but wonder, the second holding a realistic dominion only ready for those to face it as it is, leaves only the last world left.
A bland globe, solid, made of glass, filled within to block out all else from seeing through and looking out. It’s a world, for the dead of the eyes, the grim walkers, those who have carried death on their shoulders as a partner for life.
Ready to know two simple facts, when there is a life living, it will die and join death in the forever lasting marching band of bleeding feet and tear swell eyes. As this world, is only known for its darker times, when there is no way out of a rational way, complexion given high and striking the minds to in differ themselves and finding easy ways out of it.
A gun to the head, a dagger to the heart, an effortless jump off a ledge, a blunder left or right, it all ends the same. Grim as it is, it another world of truth to minds who wander, alone and together, in these worlds, in this one kingdom.
Resting there on the hard surface of abundance made of wood. With a light, so distance but hot to the touch, but cold to see, shine upon, making sense of it all.
Even though, that would be just a waste, and it’s best to let it be, and play the cards already dealt.
Three Spheres II by Maurits Cornelis “M.C.†Escher
Made in the year; 1946
Location when painted; varies areas of Netherlands
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