Wednesday, December 15, 2010

My, oh my myopia
In my natal state,
My scope strained
To differentiate
Colours and shapes

As I grew up
In my household confines,
The television pane
Presented my window to the world.
Conceptualized by cliche
I was in a masturbatory bliss
Before I knew of such a thing.
Stimulated visually
By the appliance that babysat me.

Shapes defined as letters,
Symbols, and words;
The pages of a book
Came to frame
My outlook.
A sordid affair took place
Under my sheets, sneaking
Moments with the texts,
That I kept pressed
against my chest,
And graciously
I received.
Ideas inseminated
My feral young mind.

My first, true
Love, cast aside
For flashing lights,
Instantaneous results,
And a plethora of
Other vices.
Draining my sight,
In my addiction.
I realized I want
Something more.

It's amazing,
The difference
Two pieces of glass
Can make.
It can:
Refocus my world,
Show me to lost loves,
Allow my eyes to see
Everything blissfully.

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