We revelate upon the page
in deference to what feels sage,
intransitory benefits
of supping on the fruits of rage,
but summoning the faintest hope
that what we scrawl transcends the tropes
we utilise to make our points:
Perspectives are but periscopes.
Where once before, our dogma ruled
and in the pool our doggies crawled,
the one way in was one way out.
We closed our eyes so we were fooled.
Now, introspection turns without,
our questions aired, our minds but scouts
for evidence of what was missed
and what the whole world is about.
Break down the walls you built to hide,
for what was wisdom, now is snide.
Become the water smoothing rocks
and you can be the changing tide,
for canvases are all born blank
in expectation of your art.
You too can change the scheme you wrought;
each page you turn’s a new chance bought
for reason, rhyme … and life.
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