The View From Here

There's a little smudge
On the lower right hand side
of my glasses, and I
can't help but wonder
if that's a metaphor for my mind
Do I make things a little fuzzy for myself
Around the edges here and there?
Then again, I've never pretended to have objective vision
My world is so powerfully intoxicating because I've no claims on reality
I write that, and already hear the derision
In their voices as they mock my conviction:
"You're like a 3-year old!"; "You're such a 4-year old."
Well maybe next year I'll be two!
If I can keep getting more curious and unassuming
Maybe I'll continue to avoid the fate of you -
The persons who attempt to convert me to
Increasingly more sinister sensibilities -
Riddled with the lack of possibility
I prefer to go with ambiguity
I prefer to dote on the startlingly new
I have no patience for your soulless attempts
To encroach upon my point of view

The smudge cleared
But now the lights have a faint halo
I wonder what kind of visual aesthetic
This might inspire in my dreaming vision
For consciousness is rapidly fading
As a lucrative notion
It appears I'll have to show sleep
Some love and devotion
And as I lie still, my mind will be in such motion...
I will overthrow ideas I didn't even know needed reinventing