The view

from your shoes is not exactly what I expected.

What looked like a comfortable perch

Is unexpectedly treacherous.

The view

from my shoes is not particularly accurate.

What I see in the mirror is dark

and irretrievably distorted

because the cataracts on my soul

keep the light from penetrating.

The truth

is not some remote ideal to aspire to

What looks like a reliable rule

Is unexpectedly treacherous.

The truth

doesn’t necessarily conform to reality

which is no more than a construction,

just like the symbolic characters

that continue separating us from

The light

a name that we give to unbroachable limitations

What looks impossible to achieve

Is unexpectedly transcended

The view

Is the best thing about these bodies of ours

and yet we darken our glass with symbols and artifice

to the point that we stumble and fall,

Blinded by the light and the darkness,

Scratching on the floor of the cave.

Reaching

With trembling fingers of religion, science and art

Hoping

to connect with something that won’t give us pain

and yet

we keep tripping over the same patches of uneven ground

Lashing out, hurting one another

In the darkness of the grand illusion

that there is separation between us.

Between us

There is nothing.