Illusion

An illusion:

A slight of hand slightly different than what appears in the mirror,
if a mirror is even something to be trusted,
as it is constructed
of metal and glass and bits
made from man
with their sweaty hands,
tinkering away to create a shard
where you can stand and reflect
on if the angle of where your jaw and chin meet
measures up in a way that pleases the masses
and check off the box we are put inside,
concealed and bound with chains and locks
into a mold.

We’re bold,

but not clever like Houdini,
with a skill for wiggling out of any corner society has backed him into

and with a flash,

bang,

they are fooled.

Full of deceit and lies,
cashing receipts
for the tricks they’ve been sold,
because the age-old smoke and mirrors has succeeded again

but  We  are  n o t  f o o l e d.

We are not tricked.

We see a spade for a spade on the back of an ornate king bedazzled in diamonds, capturing the hearts of queens,
hiring jokers,
the masters of the craft
of making us laugh
as a distraction from the true terror illuminated under the Light of the Moon,

but that’s just one side of the story.

The shadow of the eclipse is presented to one hemisphere,
while the other bathes in milky, incandescent pools of hope,
dancing in masks on the dreams of the other
because they are blinded by the brightness of what isn’t even light,
but a reflection of light,
if light is even what we think it is.

Alas, we have been tricked

by Science (or Ignorance),

into believing that our side of the story is what truly holds water
when in fact it is  w e i g h t l e s s ,
blown away by a strong current,
the hurricanes and cyclones of another world,
built to destroy our perception of perfection,
when if you flip a coin you can’t make heads or tails
of light
or dark
and Grey suddenly becomes the only truth you’ve ever known;
in its subtlety,
in its wavering footsteps,
on a dusty surface too cold for life,
but too beautiful to not consider the possibilities
and dream of a Universe bigger than our earthly tricks and games,
where we have put blame on the other side of a two-way mirror
that if we just wait long enough,
we will see the problem we’ve been staring at the whole time is
ourselves.

So the Moon turns and fades…

It illuminates.

It darkens.

Its shadows deceive our eyes
which require light shone just the right way
to reveal the magicians truth:

that behind the glitter,
the smoke,
the dust,
the velvet,
and the rabbit-filled top hat,

the Glass is shattered.

A sparkle glimmers blindingly at just the right angle,
a geometric revelation that when all is said and done,
when the lights fade and the music stops,
the violin creaks a final screech,
the bow halting,
cymbals crashing,

we are left in a world of Grey,

splattered,

sprayed colorless,

where  d e t a i l s    n  o  w    f  a  d  e

and perceptions bleed into one dull shade…

We are one card-up-the-sleeve away from giving up the Magician’s secret:
Things Aren’t Always as They Seem