Writings V

The Kaleidoscope
Bits of color, bits of glass
Change each other as they pass.
Shards of light and shapes uncertain
Guide fools and wise through life’s curtain.

“What will I find?” “What shall I see?”
I asked the Other expectantly.
He shook his head, for he was a mute
His hair white and wiry, right down to its roots.

No words he offered, no answers he gave
He just pointed at me, then at an old grave.
‘Tis the end of all things, after all life is done
The end of the race, whether lost or won.

I looked through the ‘scope, and what did I feel
But remorse and sharp pain from crushed ideals.
This perspective was strange, not like the view
From my youth with childhood’s warm, pastel hues.

As patterns shifted, and shapes unraveled
My thoughts turned slowly to roads untraveled.
The music playing ‘twas a mournful tune
A dirge perhaps, for some day soon
When a crowd would gather, as a mother’s cry
Pierces the silent, watching sky.

Arcane its features, but though of ancient design,
The kaleidoscope beckons, its polish still shines.
I cannot resist its call any longer, nor fight its embrace.
So if you find me staring, do not fear my wan face.

Some day, perhaps, you too shall discover
A tool like mine which will help you uncover
The truths of this world and the next in good time
Where displayed are great sorrow and perhaps the sublime.

To return Home, click here.

© 2008 Christopher C. Chan


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