The Ocular Specifics of Vision


and the delicate parachutes whistling

            with white-spun dandelion seeds drift to

form the rich parchment of

            my thoughts,



as from the heavens

            a feather clothed in snow

sinks gracefully into my hand


now with snipped tip and warm ink

the words can begin,

            bright and ready to

            march across my page

            and follow orders sent from

                        my leader, Vision




When I was young,

to enjoy the honeyed nectar


                                       dusty gold

dripped sweetly from

floral stamens splattered with

                                                pixie dust

            while imagining petals as

fairy dresses

stitched with ivory veins

            was all I needed from life


            and Vision was just a sense

                        I could use to see pretty things

                        and count clouds in the luminous air


and all that mattered were

            the colors of the rainbow

dancing     across        the         sky

            singing me melodies

                        to occupy my time

when I was alone again

                               at school

                               at night

while amusing myself

                               with dreams

                               with books


to hungrily taste the world

                        and hear the

rainbow's gentle lullaby

            was all I needed from life




And now,

I am ready to leap out



            from the       

                        finely woven nest

                        of home and cramped spaces

a bird's eye view scanning

                                    all possibilities

and to know and understand that my thoughts are worth


            is all I need from life


            and Vision is now an extended metaphor

                        with personified traits

                        best explained through symbols

                         (according to English class)


my wings ready for journeys

            and claws        armed

                        with the pleasant weight of dreams


with the choice to fly into the forests

of other birds

and kindle the philosophical flame

            is all I need from life




And in my future,      

I am ready to fight strife without end

            and lose       money




                        yet never relinquish

            my hold

on the Vision of a better world


and take action

            even if

                        the cycle is


                        and lose


                        and lose





to use hope as my weapon

            to inflict            world peace

and use words as my            soldiers

with only nonviolent means

            is all I need from life


            and Vision is now a mantra

                        akin to a presidential slogan

                        but without

                        the false promises of tax cuts and no war

                        (according to bitter experience)


and life is an open canyon my eyes can sketch


because with Vision

            and a plan

                     anything is possible


and to paint my dusty, grayish lands of chipped

curves and broken ridges

            with colors of vibrant red      white      blue

to share

the rainbow with others

            is all I need from life




Then even when years whip by,

         even     when          the      



swim with

            the speed





performing butterfly stroke



old age

            sets in


and stiff nailed bars





            refuse to

                           let       light





those damn cataracts






                        surgery        means




            the ability    to            






                        focus ---




Vision is not only

            a sense

                        but also

            an attitude

                        of looking forward

                        to new horizons

            and looking back

            for the memories


Vision is not only

            for young me or

                  old me

                        but also

                  downtrodden me

                  delighted me

                  angry me

                  ambitious me


                        and for young you and

                                    old you

                                          and also

                                    downtrodden you

                                    delighted you

                                    angry you

                                    ambitious you




Vision is the eternal rainbow

                        blooming in song, painted of course

                        with different colors but with the same brush

                                    over and over and

                                    over and over in

                                    every epoch when

                                                   the dandelion blooms,

                                                   as the most beautiful flower is the one that grows





Vision refuses to die with me or you or any one or any poem

            but instead reawaken through generations

            as an instinct like

                        fireflies with their nightly dances even though

                                    no one ever wrote them a script


                                                                                                            and nothing matters more


 (because with vision

            and a plan

                      anything is possible)


because with Vision

            and a plan

                      anything is possible



            AND A PLAN

                         ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE


and I would like to see anyone live without that




Vision is a reminder

            lasered into the corneas of my eyes



                        in the now

                        before the inevitable

                        and cherish every

                        moment of



                        and any second

                        not helping others

                        or pondering thoughts

                        or creating art

                        is wasted





Because without Vision,

dandelions wither on the stem

trampled with the weight of past mistakes

            and only wasted hopes linger

                                                            on seedlings that never stood a chance


and no feather will stay unblemished white

                                                                     but rather

            a mottled black, from toxic waste and

                                                  oil dumps and



and no war can be won by soldiers without a leader

as Vision has all the plans


                                    Vision carries hope

                                                the most dangerous of all


so for my limited time on earth,

            through childhood

                                    and youth age

                                    and adulthood

                                    and old age

            Vision takes shelter within my soul


for she is all that I am,

and I never could live without that



This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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