Day 184: Lenses

Stuck behind these rectangles of glass

I see the world in HD

Quality pixels of light

The cones can line up the waves

For crisp lines and solid colors

Growing up in the U.S. of A

Reading History through the eyes of others

The answers clearly labeled

Good guys and bad

Marked in bold

Lenses built by parents, society, and fear

I plop them on my nose every morning

Heading out the door, I know

The pictures are clear

My television is on the right channel

Strolling down the street

Reading my newspaper, soaking in the mirror

I turn the page as a leg leaps out in front

Tripping my balance, the glasses fly

Smash on the ground

I look around, but I can’t see anyone

The crowd is blurred

Each person blended together as one

Harmonious spectrum

There are no lines or shapes

But souls reaching out a hand

To help me find my way