Do you ever wonder why, in a world that offers so many opportunities to understand from all the sources of information available, that the will to tolerate and understand seem to be at an all time low?
Where are our listening hearts?
Cast her as the big bad witch
And all you’ll surely see
Is cloak of black with pointy hat
With broomstick made from tree
You will think you’ll hear a cackle
Swear blind she owns a cat
That crosses in front of your path
To catch the nearest rat
And you’ll be certain that she has
A fiery cauldron too
Where tail of mouse and rat complete
All mix into the stew
Yet ‘neath perception’s bias
You’ll fail to see the rest
The truth or altitude view that so
Belies your thoughts at best
For there’s no cloak, no pointy hat
No broomstick or fire pit
No cackle, though perhaps a cat
But that is about it
As beneath these dark and blackened clothes
She wears as a disguise
Another her is maybe masked
To cover up her size
Or hide away from judgement and
The pointing finger that
Condemns those who don’t look the same
In the same boat they’re sat
And by your own distorted view
You fail to see the good
Less open eyes to observe her
The way she craves you would
And see the real girl; see her heart
Her story that unfolds
Instead of simple dreadfulness
Her beauty to behold!
So twist your mind; contort it to
Conceive another view
For there’s a multitude of ways
That she might see you too!
I sit and look and look and see
The variance in reality
And think to myself how very strange
That each one can just rearrange
The words writ on the self same page
With different outcomes cross the age
All coming from the self same core
Yet changing somewhat to ensure
That what I see with my own eyes
May to your view remain disguised
Yet that’s just what perception holds
For what you call rubbish, I may call gold
Ginz&Tonic 