Point of View

There’s a subtle difference in our understanding

The picture you paint

And the one I see

Are different

But I nod


There is a subtle difference

In our experience

And the memories I had

Are sightly different

Than those you had

Laying next to me




In a dream I came to know

Of what is above

And what is below

Of creatures dark and ones that glow

And I heard the earth crying out to the sun: “burn them all, rid me of this plague.”

Then I woke.