Polarization

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Touts may tempt you,

To don rose-colored glasses,

Shouting:

“We can help you draw,

The finest lines,

With no more glare.

Blot out all aberrations,

Lock them out,

So that the spectrum is laid bare.”

Beware of blinders,

There is no one-size-fits-all approach,

To perception.

Light ricochets,

Unpredictably,

But without the full range,

You cannot expect,

Clear sight.

Tungsten

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Let there be light,

Turn the knob twice,

Curled, Coiled,

Incandescent filament.

Glowing white-hot,

Between two prongs,

Until it all stops,

And pops-

A blue spark,

Flashes twice as bright,

When it’s burned for too long.

It all comes crumbling down,

Rolling around,

Disembodied,

In the bell jar.

You’re distracted,

By the floating, bluish,

Inkblots that slide,

Away from your line of sight.

You ask yourself “how many idiots does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

But instead of answering, you quietly exit,

To find a replacement.

DECLASSIFIED: I Hope you Find What You’re Looking for

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Read the original here.

Ever cloud-watched at night?

It sounds paradoxical, but if there’s enough light pollution in your corner of the world, the clouds stand out even in the night sky.

And it’s disappointing sometimes that you’re able to do that; wouldn’t you rather see the stars?

But just because you’ve been dealt a hand that you’re unhappy with doesn’t make the clouds any less spectacular than they are in the daytime.

Thousands of tons of water are floating miles in the sky, never in quite the same shape or location as their counterparts.

Stars, on the other hand, will always be there. Most are probably dead anyway, so far away that the light we see from them is essentially showing us how they looked billions of years ago. They aren’t going anywhere in the grand scheme of things.

Perspective is what matters, insofar as that it’s under your jurisdiction.

The sky, however, is out of your grasp.

Kaleidoscope

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Selfish is the radiance-hoarder,

Unbounded bouncing element resonates,

Through the sphere of the sunshine recorder,

Upon its crux the particle detonates.

Lucid luminescence has primal appeal,

In a world of constant flux,

Like an old zoetrope, spinning like a pinwheel,

Unfettered, unfocused, a coliseum of lux.

A balance must be struck between the two reciprocals,

A cavalcade of color that leaves an impression,

A spectral speckle spectacle; a rainbow flicker-festival,

A kaleidoscope held up to your eye for another session.