|Chandeliers, New South Head Road, Edgecliff|
|The image is a blur that sways into and out of focus|
While my eye dances to the mesmerising rhythm
Of its extended lens, endeavouring to transmit
Data to my addled brain to discern
The actual from the pretend, the real from the reflected .
To be able to fully see, sight becomes inadequate
My brain requires powers of thought to aid perception.
But to which facet do I direct my eye, and seeing such confusion
Is the flash of white brilliance sufficient to discriminate
The reflected image from the original, or
Does light in all its colours and minute rays
Deceive my sight and preclude my brain
From knowing its full form.
My mind from perceiving its true nature?
Are there scrambled images
That cannot be known through sight alone?
Arrayed hieroglyphs that defeat our eyes
Demanding more perception than mere sight?
Is a picture worth a thousand words?
|Contemplate the contribution of others at Weekend Reflections|