the lights of the ceiling fan
stare back at me from their reflection
in the old bedroom window
like large, yellow, studious eyes
peering into our home in shocked surprise

and this is how I give life
to the world around me these days;
by accident and with lack of intent
as my surroundings animate
and look on in shocked surprise.

“this…this is our creator?
we had hoped for blazing life;
we had wished to be…more
than some distant, faint, photostat
pressed between panes of glass
trapped in two dimensions”

but i don’t listen,
i let them scream
as the sun rises
and they fade to memory
and beyond.
while i wander away whispering:

“Plato warned you,
he warned us all;
this is the price of existence
from rise to fall.”