In Broken Images
He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
He is broken, fragmented into little frames,
little boxes that constrict his mind, restrict his thinking.
That restricted mine.
I am now a whole, a singular mind and
I am liberated by his experiences.
He climbs into his box.
I now stand tall thinking out of my box.
He shrinks, infinitely foolish, confused and angered and afraid.
While I simply stand tall, thinking, contemplating, self-enlightening.